Ghosts
by Refur
Summary: Sequel to Pro Patria Mori. Bridger's back, but now he and the crew must confront the past.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: seaQuest and its characters are not mine.  
  
This is a sequel to "Pro Patria Mori". The story will not make sense unless you've read the previous one.  
  
Well, you guys wanted a sequel, here it is. How's that for service? : ). Enjoy!  
  
  
  
Ghosts  
  
Chapter 1  
  
Private Maria Nguyen was bored. She supposed she should have expected it when she signed up – if she'd wanted excitement, she should have gone for navy, not army. All the front lines in this war were under the sea. But her mom had been so worried, had begged and pleaded with her to choose a less dangerous occupation. She had been determined that the armed forces were for her, but to please her poor mother she had dressed in green instead of blue. And now she was stuck guarding this dump of a building on a godforsaken island in the middle of nowhere, with no-one for company except a few timid eggheads who hardly ever came out of their holes and three or four other soldiers. She felt like she was going slowly crazy, and wondered about a transfer onto a submarine. She would take any job she could get, she would clean toilets all day if only it meant she could see some action.  
  
She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she didn't her the soft clinking sound as a shadow slipped over the chain-link fence behind her. The first she knew about it was when someone grabbed her from behind. She reacted fast, but the months of sentry duty had dulled her reflexes, and she was not fast enough. Her blow went wide and strong hands tightened around her neck. The last thing she saw before she lost consciousness was a shadow flitting before her eyes, merging with the black spots as her brain began to shut down.  
  
  
  
"Captain on the bridge!"  
  
Lieutenant Tim O'Neill jumped to attention, feeling his stomach tie itself in knots. Sure, serving under Captain Stark had been no walk in the park, but Bridger was another matter altogether. He had been gone for six months, and O'Neill had dared to hope that he wouldn't be coming back; he'd heard that Bridger was hiding out in some tropical island paradise with dancing girls and unlimited supplies of cane rum. Somehow, he found this image hard to reconcile with the rigid, military man who had captained the seaQuest for two months at the beginning of the tour. But if it kept him from shouting at O'Neill, then he didn't care if he'd gone to play the banjo with the Grateful Dead.  
  
Nathan Bridger appeared at the back of the bridge, and looked around at his assembled crew. He looks older, O'Neill thought. His face was deeply tanned, and the lines on it had grown heavier. There was something softer about him too, though O'Neill couldn't quite put his finger on it.  
  
With a perfunctory salute, Bridger turned and made his way to the captain's chair. "At ease," he muttered, as if as an afterthought. O'Neill raised his eyebrows, and exchanged surprised glances with Miguel Ortiz. This was the paragon of military precision who'd had them all jumping to at a moment's notice? What the hell happened to him? O'Neill wondered.  
  
But he knew what had happened, of course. They all did. Robert's death had affected all the senior crew to some extent; Krieg had even taken a month's leave to deal with his the loss of his best friend. Tim had only known the young man a few weeks before he died, but he had liked and respected him. They all had.  
  
  
  
Bridger called a meeting of the senior crew almost immediately after he came on board. There were several issues he wanted to deal with. The most important would come last.  
  
The senior staff filed in, on after another. Commander Jonathan Ford was first. He looked more confident than he had when Bridger had left. Then Lieutenant Commander Katherine Hitchcock. The lieutenants O'Neill and Ortiz came next, and Bridger saw that he still made O'Neill nervous. He was sorry for that. Maybe he could make amends.  
  
Ship's doctor Kristen Westphalen regarded him with a sympathetic expression as she entered the room. She had liked Robert very much, Bridger recalled. More than she liked his father. He heaved a sigh, and wondered if he had managed to alienate the entire crew without noticing. I was so bound up in myself and my flagship, he thought. But he had paid for it.  
  
His old friend Manilow Crocker, chief of security, gave him a sad smile. And last of all was Lieutenant Benjamin Krieg, Supply and Morale Officer, and Robert's best friend. Krieg held Bridger's eyes for a long moment, and Bridger was the first to look away.  
  
When all were seated, Bridger sat too. He looked around at the faces of his senior crew, remembering the day eight months before when he had done just the same; it felt like years had passed. Everything had been so different then. The feeling of pride and triumph he had had then, standing on the deck of his boat, his baby, had been replaced by an empty resignation, and regret for what he had been. But for better or worse, he was responsible for these people once again. He cleared his throat.  
  
"Well," he said, with a smile, "it's customary at this point for the new captain to say a few words to introduce himself. However, I think in this case that won't be necessary."  
  
There were a few nods and smiles around the table in acknowledgement of his gentle humour. O'Neill looked astonished for a moment, but had the good grace to look embarrassed when he saw the captain looking at him. Was I really so much of a monster? Bridger wondered.  
  
"You all know the circumstances of my departure from this boat," Bridger continued after a moment's thought. "I did not intend to return; however, certain... circumstances persuaded me that I was still needed here. I know that in the past I have not been the most easy-going of captains. However, I hope that you will all find me approachable and open to suggestions. I am aware that this crew is of the highest quality, and I do not wish to waste any of your talents." He took another look around. Almost everyone looked surprised now. Well, that was nothing to the surprise they were going to get next.  
  
  
  
"I have also taken on a new crew member. He should be here any minute." As if on cue, there was a knock on the door. "Come in," Bridger said.  
  
The door opened, and Tim O'Neill was shocked to find himself looking at a man he never thought he'd see again. The one person who made him more nervous than Captain Bridger.  
  
Lucas Wolenczak.  
  
O'Neill could see immediately that, whatever transformation Bridger had undergone, Lucas had not shared in it. His hair was a little longer, he was a little thinner – if that was possible – but his face was still an emotionless mask, and his eyes still blazed intensely.  
  
And he still made O'Neill nervous.  
  
"I think you've all met Commander Wolenczak before," Bridger said, looking round the table. Those who had managed to gather up some of their wits nodded. "He will be assisting Commander Hitchcock with the ship's computer systems. He will not be assigned a rank, but I hope you will afford him due respect and give him assistance when necessary." More nods. Hitchcock gave Lucas a slightly astonished smile.  
  
"One more thing," Bridger added. "The circumstances of Mr. Wolenczak's original arrival on this boat are classified top secret. They are not to be discussed with anyone, including UEO intelligence officers. As far as anyone outside this room is concerned, we found Mr. Wolenczak on a refugee ship, discovered his origins and his talent with computers, and took him on as civilian staff. Is that understood?"  
  
O'Neill got the impression that Bridger was staring directly at him as he said this. He nodded, blushing furiously. Bridger nodded and sighed.  
  
"That is all, for now. Dismissed."  
  
  
  
After everyone else had left the Ward Room, Lucas and Krieg remained, sitting at the long table. They were silent for a time. Then Krieg looked up and smiled.  
  
"It's good to see you, Lucas," he said.  
  
Lucas nodded. "It's good to see you too, Ben. I only wish it were under better circumstances."  
  
"How was prison?" Ben asked, attempting to be light-hearted. The question came out wrong.  
  
Lucas shrugged. "Unpleasant."  
  
"Did they, uh..." Ben trailed off, not sure he wanted to know, but wanting the younger man to be able to tell him if he needed to.  
  
For a moment Lucas stared at the wall silently. Then he turned to look at Krieg. "They got what they needed from me," he said, without flinching.  
  
Ben sighed, feeling a lump in his throat. "Robert would have been so pleased to see you here, a member of this crew."  
  
Lucas dropped his gaze, staring at the table top. "I hope it works out. For his sake," he said softly.  
  
For a moment the two men sat, lost in their own thoughts. Then Ben got up to leave, leaving Lucas alone.  
  
  
  
Alexander Bourne allowed a sneer to crease his elegant features. "My dear captain," his said, his tone dripping with sarcasm, "I think you'll find that international law has been dead and gone since the early years of this century."  
  
The captain, a thickset man with an irritating, bullish manner, shook his head. "All the same, sir," he said stubbornly, "I don't feel comfortable with this. They're civilians, sir."  
  
Bourne raised his eyebrows in disdain. "Since when has it been your job to care, Captain?" he asked. "I was under the impression that this was the navy, not a children's home. After going to all the effort of stealing this technology from the UEO, you think we're going to test it on our own people?"  
  
The captain shook his head again. "Of course not, sir, but-"  
  
"But me no buts, Captain. That's an order." He terminated the communication and settled back in his seat with a smile. He enjoyed his job, and he was good at it. He had the feeling that one day he was going to be an important man indeed. And for that to happen, he had to be sure that the Pacific South-West Federation gave up this useless charade of truce with the UEO, allowing its neighbour to accrue ever more power and territory picking off small fry like the Free Nations and the San Juan League, and used some power of its own.  
  
He pressed a button on his desk console. "Captain Lang? This is Minister Bourne. Are the preparations complete?" Having received an affirmative answer, he paused for a moment before taking the step that would destroy the last semblance of peace in the world.  
  
"Good. Let's go to war." 


	2. Chapter 2

seaQuest y sus carácteres no son míos.  
  
Ninety-nine red balloons for each of my discerning and rather good-looking reviewers: kas, pari106, Teresa, Ahn-Li Steffraini, M14Mouse, Pheniox-Skye, Zoe, sara, Diena, lo, ano and liz, and special thanks to hepatica for her non-electronic encouragement : ).  
  
ano: I'm sorry my chapters are short, but think of it this way: at least the story will last longer that way ; ).  
  
  
  
Ghosts  
  
Chapter 2  
  
"Captain, I can't believe you're doing this!"  
  
Ford had trailed Bridger back to his quarters. Bridger supposed he had known this was coming, but he didn't really want to have to deal with it. He gritted his teeth.  
  
"You can't allow a civilian on board the boat," Ford said firmly. Bridger raised his eyebrows.  
  
"Jonathan, we both know that that young man is no more a civilian than you or I. But that's not what this is about, is it?"  
  
Ford had the good grace to look slightly embarrassed. "I just don't think this is a good idea, Captain. He's spent all his life working for the Alliance of Free Nations! What if he's still working for them?"  
  
"You've changed your tune," Bridger remarked. "I seem to remember it was you that wanted me to get him out of prison in the first place."  
  
"Yes, but not to bring him here!" Ford said incredulously.  
  
Bridger shook his head. "Jonathan, all my life I've been a hard man. Now I have to live with the fact that my son died feeling that I was disappointed in him." Ford opened his mouth, but Bridger raised a hand to stop him. "That boy came to me because he had nowhere else to go. In two short months, Robert was able to make him feel that seaQuest was the closest thing he had to a home. How can I turn him away now? How could I destroy something that Robert gave to the world?"  
  
"With respect, sir, that sounds like a pretty sentimental reason to bring an escaped POW aboard the UEO flagship," Ford said stiffly.  
  
Bridger sighed. "Well, maybe it is sentimental. But I'm the captain, and I can do what I like. Besides, we need a computer expert, and God knows we can always use a bit of military experience."  
  
Ford face became incredulous once more. "You mean you're going to allow him to participate in military operations?"  
  
Bridger laughed. "This whole boat is a military operation, Jonathan! It's either that, or put him back in the brig. But yes, as I said in the Ward Room, I'll certainly consider his advice along with that of everyone else when making my decisions. Do you think that I will be unable to distinguish good advice from bad?"  
  
Ford shook his head. "No, sir."  
  
"Good," Bridger nodded. "Then this conversation is over. If you'll excuse me, I could do with some sleep." And he ushered Ford gently out of the door. Once the hatch was closed, he leant against it with a sigh.  
  
Well, he thought, no-one ever said this was going to be easy.  
  
  
  
"Well, all I'm saying is-" O'Neill broke off suddenly in surprise as he arrived at his quarters. Ortiz almost ran into his back.  
  
"All you're saying is what, Tim?" he asked. But Tim was staring at something in the room. Ortiz pushed him gently aside, and found himself staring at a familiar figure unpacking a few meagre possessions. The young man had looked up as they arrived, and was now regarding them, unsmiling.  
  
"Um, what are you doing in my room?" Tim asked slightly unsteadily.  
  
Ortiz grinned. "What does it look like he's doing, Tim? Looks like you and Lucas are going to be roomies." This is going to be interesting, he thought.  
  
Lucas nodded. "That's right, the captain assigned me these quarters."  
  
Ortiz looked at Tim to see how he was taking it. All the blood had drained from his face. Ortiz shook his head in exasperation. Come on, Tim, he's not that scary, he thought. He knew that Lucas had noticed Tim's expression too, and felt suddenly sorry for the young man. He plumped down on the bunk.  
  
"So, Lucas," he said with a wide smile, "just how good at computers are you?"  
  
Lucas turned to look at him, without a trace of arrogance in his face. "I'm the best there is," he said simply.  
  
  
  
Captain Andrew Braithwaite, of the Alliance of Free Nations vessel Freedom, sank down onto his bunk with a heavy sigh. It had been a long, long day. It felt as though he'd been chewed out by every admiral in the fleet, and the worst thing was, he deserved it. The UEO had got hold of the stealth technology. What little hope they had left in the war had slipped through their fingers, and it was all his fault. If the kid hadn't gone and got himself killed, none of this would have happened.  
  
In the end, of course, it was all down to Wolenczak. Braithwaite was under no illusions there. He shuddered to think what that young man must have been put through at the hands of the UEO to force him to give up his secrets. And then again... It had seemed for a moment, before it all hit the fan, that the hostage, the captain's son, had been trying to protect Wolenczak.  
  
No. Braithwaite shook his head. The kid had just been trying to protect the UEO's best chance to acquire the stealth technology. There was absolutely no way that Wolenczak would have defected: Braithwaite had never known a more loyal soldier. Pushing the nagging doubt to the back of his mind, Braithwaite recalled, wincing, that he had managed to lose Wolenczak yet again. All because that damn kid had to be a hero.  
  
Well, the Free Nations leadership could hardly have come up with a better punishment. It was Braithwaite's responsibility to clean up his own mess. And with Wolenczak still out there, and still stuffed full of Free Nations secrets, that meant that Braithwaite was charged with the task of eliminating his former best officer and friend. But he would have to find him first.  
  
He almost hoped he never did.  
  
  
  
"Show me again," said Westphalen with an astonished smile. Hitchcock grinned at Lucas and tapped a few buttons. The mess of circuit boards she held in her hand, with an improvised keypad half hanging off it, could hardly be called finished, but the result was still incredible.  
  
"Darwin," Hitchcock said into the machine. "Who's this?"  
  
The dolphin chattered for a moment, and after a brief pause, a mechanical voice said "Lucas."  
  
Westphalen shook her head in disbelief. "I thought you'd run up against a brick wall with this thing before you left. How did you get it working so quickly?"  
  
Lucas shrugged, rubbing the dolphin's head. "I had a lot of time to think while I was in prison," he said nonchalantly. "I realised what the problem was after a couple of months. Now I've just got to do the donkey work. Programme the language base."  
  
The doctor smiled at him. "This is an incredible achievement, Lucas," she said. "How many words can it translate?"  
  
She thought she detected the slightest hint of a flush on the boy's face. "Well, so far only one, actually," he said. "I thought I'd start small."  
  
Hitchcock shook her head. "You call this small?" she asked.  
  
At that moment, an announcement came over the ship's tannoy. "All senior officers report to the bridge." Hitchcock stood up to go. She looked at Lucas expectantly. Lucas looked back at her.  
  
"You coming?" asked Hitchcock.  
  
"Last time I looked, I wasn't an officer at all, let alone senior," Lucas said without emotion.  
  
"No, but you are my assistant," Hitchcock said firmly. "And I might need you. So let's get moving."  
  
She thought she saw a look of gratitude flicker across Lucas' face as he scrambled to his feet.  
  
  
  
"What's the situation?" asked Commander Ford as he entered the bridge. The captain stood in the centre of the horseshoe of consoles. Ford noticed to his irritation that Wolenczak was sitting at one of the consoles next to Hitchcock, but he decided not to comment. "It's not entirely clear," Bridger said. His voice was calm, but his whole body was tensed for action. "It seems that we may be under attack."  
  
"May be?" Ford asked in surprise. Surely it should be pretty obvious? "Who by?"  
  
Bridger heaved a sigh. "Pacific South-West," he said, sounding suddenly exhausted.  
  
Ford felt the colour drain from his face. "But," he checked the co- ordinates quickly, "we're in UEO waters!"  
  
"That's right, Commander," Bridger said heavily. "It appears the ceasefire is over."  
  
  
  
"What are those things?" Bridger stared in dismay at the tiny points of light that were moving rapidly across the sensor view. Ortiz shook his head.  
  
"Beats me," he said. "Some kind of attack sub, but they're faster than anything we've seen from Pacific South-West before."  
  
"Seems like everyone's full of surprises these days," muttered Bridger. "How much firepower are they packing?"  
  
Ortiz checked the sensors. "Can't be sure, sir. At least two laser cannons, maybe some extra-" He was cut off as the boat suddenly gave a violent lurch. Bridger, the only man standing on the bridge, was flung across the room and hit his head against the rim of the bridge pool. He crumpled to the floor.  
  
Ford was at his side in an instant, speaking into his PAL even as he knelt to turn the captain over. "Ford to Westphalen, medical emergency on the bridge."  
  
The boat lurched again, and Ford found it hard to keep his balance. "What the hell is going on?" he yelled.  
  
Ortiz was typing rapidly. "Depth charges," he said. "Or something very similar. The attack subs are just a diversion, sir. There are two larger subs off the port bow. Look like about the same size as a Phoenix class."  
  
"Hail them," Ford said, standing, but keeping a cautious grip on the back of the captain's chair.  
  
After a pause, O'Neill shook his head. "They're transmitting a Pacific South-West signal sir, but no other response."  
  
"No doubt about it, then," Ford said grimly. "We're finally at war." 


	3. Chapter 3

seaQuest ei kuulu minulle.  
  
The scent of birch woods after rain for my reviewers: pari106, sara, Zoe, Crimson Amber, kas, hepatica and ano (x2!). You guys are sweeter than cherry pie.  
  
pari106: Hey, I love long reviews : ). It's great to hear some details about what you've enjoyed (although feel free to mention anything you don't like as well, I'm very thick-skinned). Thanks!  
  
Crimson Amber: Guess you changed your moniker? How confusing. Still, I like the new one : ). Does that mean I have to change my thanks to you in all the chapters of PPM? ; )

ano: oh, ok, if you insist... : )  
  
  
  
Ghosts  
  
Chapter 3  
  
Lucas pressed down his anxiety about Bridger, concentrating on the task in hand. If the captain was seriously hurt, he knew there was a chance he would be discharged from the boat. Besides, he couldn't bear the thought of Robert's father... He stopped himself. Find a way in, he thought determinedly. There's got to be a chink in their armour somewhere.  
  
Ford was standing in the centre of the bridge, his back rigid. "Launch intercepts," he said tensely.  
  
"Intercepts away," Ortiz reported. "Impact in three... two... one... impact." The boat rocked slightly. "All targets destroyed."  
  
Ford nodded, but Ortiz wasn't finished. "They're coming round for another pass, sir," he said urgently. Lucas willed his fingers to move faster. It had been a while since he'd had access to a computer. Some of the flexibility was gone. He became vaguely aware that Hitchcock was staring at him, open-mouthed. He ignored her.  
  
Ford gripped the back of the chair so tightly his knuckles went white. "Ready torpedoes, tubes one through five," he said.  
  
Ortiz pressed a few buttons. "Flooding tubes, sir."  
  
"Hail them," Ford said. O'Neill flipped a switch.  
  
"Channel open, sir."  
  
"Unidentified vessels, this is the UEO submarine seaQuest. You are in UEO waters. I order you to stand down. If you do not stand down, I will be forced to open fire."  
  
O'Neill listened for a moment. "No answer, sir."  
  
That was it! That was the way in. Lucas was suddenly nothing but an extension of the computer, the data flowing through his fingers into his brain. Just a few moments and he would be there.  
  
"They're flooding their tubes," Ortiz reported. The tension on the bridge cranked up a notch.  
  
Ford nodded decisively. "Fire torpedoes."  
  
"No!" Lucas yelled, not looking up. Ortiz stopped, surprised, his hand half- way to the switch. Ford turned sharply.  
  
"I'm almost into their systems. I'll be able to shut them down without any danger to us or them."  
  
"What?!" Ford said, astonished. "Who ordered you to do that, soldier?"  
  
Lucas resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "No-one ordered me. It just seemed like the obvious thing to do."  
  
"Well, you'd better stop doing it, now!" Ford said angrily. "Who knows what kind of viruses you could bring on board."  
  
"Oh, come on, give me some credit," Lucas said, more sarcastically than he'd intended. His fingers never stopped moving. "They'll never even know I was there."  
  
"Sir, they're firing torpedoes," Ortiz said urgently.  
  
"Launch intercepts!" Ford yelled. "And then carry out my order and launch torpedoes."  
  
"Don't!" Lucas was yelling too. "I'm almost there."  
  
Ford strode towards him. "Mr. Wolenczak, you do not have the authority to countermand my orders-"  
  
At that moment Ortiz looked up. "All power on the two subs has just gone down sir. They're dead in the water."  
  
Lucas sat back, exhausted but determined not to show it. Ford was staring at him, beside himself with rage. Lucas stared back. Well done Wolenczak, he thought, that's a great way to win friends and influence people.  
  
  
  
Bridger was sitting on the verandah of his shack on the island. The rain was lashing down and the sea was grey, but he was protected by the leaky porch roof. A few drops fell on his head, but he was too busy concentrating to notice. Somewhere out there, further along the beach, a figure was moving, almost obscured by the curtain of rain. Bridger stood up slowly, suddenly sure who it was, and stepped out into the storm. He started to walk, slowly at first, but then speeding up as the figure became more and more clear. The other man was moving more quickly as well. Bridger started to run. And in a moment he was holding the other man in his arm, hot tears mixing with the cold rain on his face. "Robert," he murmured, feeling as though his heart would burst, "Robert."  
  
He held the young mans face between his hands and stared at him, drinking him in, unable to believe what he was seeing. Robert's hair was plastered to his head, he was soaked through but not shivering. He watched his father, his eyes sad.  
  
"You've come back," Bridger said, his words barely audible over the sound of driving rain. "You've come back to me." He felt if he said it out loud, then it would be true forever. But even as the words left his mouth, the boy's face began to fade. There was a flash of lightning and a crack of thunder – or was it a gunshot? – and suddenly Bridger found himself clutching empty air and staring at the rain-lashed beach where his son's face had been a moment before. He sank to his knees on the sand, feeling something breaking within him.  
  
  
  
Kristen Westphalen looked up in surprise as her patient uttered a wrenching sob. She stood up and walked quickly to the bed-side. Bridger was still unconscious, but his face was twisted in pain. She laid a cool hand on his forehead: there was no fever. Just a bad dream.  
  
"Hush," she said gently, stroking back his hair as if he were a child. "Everything is going to be alright."  
  
Bridger quietened under her touch, but she wished she were as sure of her words as she sounded. She had to admit, the Bridger who had captained the ship at the beginning of her tour had been something of a thorn in her side, and the change that seemed to have come over his personality was certainly a welcome one. But to think what the poor man must have been through... It had been hard enough for her, and she had only known Robert for a few weeks. She shook her head, checking the captain's pulse.  
  
"You rest," she said quietly. "You look as though you could do with it."  
  
  
  
It was late in the day by the time Bridger woke up. The first thing he saw was a smiling face. For a moment he thought it might be an angel, but then the blurred features resolved themselves into Kristen Westphalen's familiar visage. She had a beautiful smile, Bridger thought. Something he'd seen very little of during his earlier time on the boat.  
  
"I see you've decided to join us back in the land of the living," the doctor said, still smiling. Bridger frowned. His head ached.  
  
"What happened?" he asked, a little groggily.  
  
"You fell and hit your head," Westphalen said. "Nothing serious. You've been sleeping for hours."  
  
Bridger suddenly sat up bolt upright, and winced as a spear of pain shot through his head. "The attack," he said urgently. "What happened?"  
  
Kristen pushed him gently back down again. "Hush, hush. Everything's under control. The attack was repelled successfully by Commander Ford."  
  
Bridger nodded, relieved. "What happened?"  
  
"Well you know," Westphalen said, looking slightly amused, "actually, there's an interesting story about that..."  
  
  
  
"He was way out of line!" Ford's face was dark with anger. "He undermined my authority on the bridge!"  
  
Bridger nodded, wincing slightly as Ford's voice grew even louder. "Yes, Jonathan, I'm sure he was, but-"  
  
"I can't have him on the bridge," Ford interrupted. "I can't trust him."  
  
Bridger raised his eyebrows in surprise. "As I understand it, Lucas managed to repel the attack without any loss of life to either side."  
  
"He refused to follow orders," Ford hissed. "It's practically mutiny!"  
  
"Now, now, Commander," Bridger said, making conciliatory gestures. "I think that's going a bit far."  
  
Ford opened his mouth again, but was interrupted by an indignant voice.  
  
"Commander Ford! Just what do you think you're doing?"  
  
The XO turned to see the diminutive Doctor Westphalen glaring at him, arms folded and foot tapping. Bridger grinned to himself. He'd been on the wrong side of that glare too many times.  
  
"Doctor," Ford said, "I'm sorry but this can't wait."  
  
"Oh really?" Westphalen sounded decidedly unimpressed. "Well if I hear you using that tone in my Med Bay again, you'll find that it can wait, and will wait, possibly for a very long time." She raised her eyebrows at him, her eyes flashing.  
  
Ford looked suitably chastened. "Yes ma'am," he muttered, flushing slightly.  
  
"Good," Westphalen nodded, satisfied. "Well then, see that you don't."  
  
After the doctor had gone on her way, Ford turned back to Bridger.  
  
"Captain, I can't be expected to work with that man on the bridge."  
  
Bridger shook his head. "Jonathan, I know he stepped out of line, but you have to remember, he's used to having authority of his own." Ford opened his mouth to protest, but Bridger raised his hand. "I know, I know. We can't have two commanders on this boat. I'll talk to him. I'm sure he'll see sense. But you'll have to deal with the fact that he's a member of this crew, Jonathan. That's my final word."  
  
Ford nodded curtly. "Aye sir. Thank you, sir."  
  
He turned to go, but at the doorway turned back. "Captain?"  
  
Bridger raised his eyebrows expectantly.  
  
"I'm sorry I yelled at you, sir."  
  
Bridger grinned. "Apology accepted. Now you'd better get out of here before the good doctor comes back."  
  
  
  
Alexander Bourne would never do anything as crude as grind his teeth. However, he did feel the urge coming on. He fought it down.  
  
"How did they defeat my two most powerful submarines?" he asked, his voice dangerously calm. The man on the screen sighed.  
  
"Sir, I told you, they hacked into the computers and cut the power. The subs were theirs for the taking."  
  
"State of the art computers!" Bourne said, a note of incredulity creeping into his voice. "We have the crew manifests, do we not? No-one on that ship is capable of breaking our programming. Or so I was told," he sneered, leaning closer to the screen. The man at the other end leaned back slightly.  
  
"I only know what I've been told," he said helplessly.  
  
Bourne sat back in his chair, his lips pursed. "Fine," he said, and shut off the transmission. Damn the UEO. He had expected seaQuest to win the battle eventually, but not without a fight. He had hoped she would be crippled for months, which would allow him to put his plans into action without hindrance. Well, he still had one or two cards up his sleeve.  
  
The vid-link beeped, this time the presidential hot-line. Bourne nodded; he had been expecting this. He pressed the "accept call" button and the screen bloomed into life, showing the face of Yaroslav Kuznitsky, President of the Pacific South-West Federation.  
  
"Mr. President," Bourne said politely, nodding at his superior.  
  
"Minister Bourne." The president looked angry. "Some rather disturbing reports have been reaching me of late."  
  
Bourne raised his eyebrows. "What sort of reports, may I ask, Mr. President?"  
  
"What do you know about the experiments being conducted at the Fiji Arc Base?"  
  
Bourne affected a look of surprise. "Experiments? What do you mean?"  
  
Kuznitsky frowned. "Don't play the innocent with me Bourne. We can't afford to have the press find out about this. The liberals would make mincemeat out of us."  
  
Bourne shook his head. "Sir, I do not understand why you persist in allowing this charade of democracy to go forward. Now that we have finally declared war on the UEO, there is all the more reason to stop the press from being disloyal."  
  
The president's frown deepened. "I know your feelings on this matter, Minister, and you know mine. Just make sure you clean up your mess before anyone finds out about it."  
  
Bourne's mouth twitched. "Yes, sir," he said coolly. The picture on the screen folded in on itself and disappeared. Bourne stared at the blank screen for a moment, then reached for his desk-mounted com unit. "Maria, get me a list of the names of everyone who works on the Fiji Arc Base." Whoever it was who leaked this is going to find themselves short of a bonus this Christmas, he thought with a grim smile.


	4. Chapter 4

seaQuest är inte min.  
  
An all-expenses paid trip on the space shuttle for all my reviewers: Ahn-Li Steffraini, sara, Crimson Amber, Zoe, pari106, ano and PhoenixTears80. Or failing that, a two-for-one offer on toothpaste? I'll see what I can afford....  
  
  
  
Ghosts  
  
Chapter 4  
  
"OK, who's in?" Krieg asked, grinning round the table. Lucas looked at his cards: full house, aces and fives. He threw a note into the centre of the table and sighed inwardly. He had only been aboard the seaQuest for a few days, but he was beginning to wonder why he had ever wanted to come back. People stared at him as he walked past; Ford obviously hated his guts; even his own room-mate was plainly terrified of him. Lucas had been trying to stay out of the quarters as much as possible, spending large portions of the night working on the vocorder in the moon pool so that the poor man could get some sleep, but he knew it couldn't go on that way. He tried to remember the feeling of peace and contentment he had felt before, the feeling that had made him want to stay on seaQuest. But there was something missing. Robert. Although the four men sitting round the poker table were arranged at equal distance from each other, there was a gaping hole that they were all aware of. Lucas felt the tension in the air as the bets mounted up. That's because of me, he thought sadly. They can't relax because I'm here. And he's not.  
  
Suddenly he lost all his appetite for playing, although he had been looking forward to this game since he had arrived on board. What a fool he was, to think that cards could change anything. He stood up abruptly, throwing down his cards. "I've got to go," he announced.  
  
Krieg looked up in surprise. "What about the game?"  
  
"Yeah, whatever. I fold," Lucas muttered, and left.  
  
  
  
As Bridger approached the moon pool he could hear the sound of low murmuring. He entered the room as quietly as possible, so as not to disturb whoever was there. His suspicion was right: Lucas was kneeling by the edge of the pool, rubbing Darwin's melon and speaking to him softly. The soft fall of his hair hid his face, and he did not see Bridger arrive. Darwin did, however, and chattered noisily. In an instant, Lucas was on his feet and turned round, hands in a defensive position. When he saw Bridger, he relaxed for a moment, then stiffened to attention.  
  
"It's OK, Lucas," Bridger said with a smile. "Neither of us is on duty."  
  
Lucas relaxed, and suddenly he looked like what he was – a sixteen-year- old, and a lost-looking one at that. Bridger approached the pool's edge and knelt down himself. "Hey Darwin," he said fondly, rubbing the dolphin's jaw. "Can't sleep?" he said to Lucas.  
  
The boy sighed and sat down on the pool edge. "No."  
  
Bridger nodded. "Me neither."  
  
They were quiet for a moment. Darwin swam away and then came back, chattering. Suddenly, Bridger almost jumped out of his skin as a strange, inhuman voice said:  
  
"Lucas! Lucas!"  
  
Bridger turned sharply, but the moon pool was deserted and dark. He looked at Lucas.  
  
"What the hell?" he whispered, wondering if someone was listening. Lucas opened his mouth, but Bridger raised his hand for silence, crouching by the pool, looking around cautiously. Darwin chattered again, and Bridger tried to motion him to be quiet.  
  
"Lucas!" said the voice again.  
  
Bridger threw caution to the wind, and stood up. Whoever, or whatever, this was, he damn well wasn't going to hide from it on his own ship. "Who are you?" he asked. "Show yourself."  
  
"Um, Captain?" Lucas was standing up too, and his expression was somewhere between embarrassment and amusement. "It's Darwin, sir."  
  
"What?!" Bridger stared at him as if he had gone mad. "Darwin's a dolphin! He doesn't speak English!"  
  
Lucas cleared his throat, embarrassment winning over in his expression. "Well... I kinda... I didn't have time to tell you, what with...." Bridger stared at him, not comprehending what he was trying to say. Lucas looked at his feet. "I fixed the computer to translate what he says."  
  
Bridger was dumbstruck. Of course, during the time when Lucas had been a prisoner on the boat and Robert had still been... During his first stint as captain of seaQuest he had been aware that the kid was working on something like that, but that seemed like a life-time ago. And he remembered that it hadn't worked.  
  
"Lucas!" said the voice again. Lucas looked somewhat anxious. Bridger realised that he was staring at him. He shut his mouth. And then grinned broadly.  
  
"This is fantastic!" he said, with true emotion in his voice. Lucas looked relieved.  
  
"It's not perfect," he said. "So far the computer only knows one word..." he trailed off, and looked at the captain anxiously once more. "I'll teach it your name tomorrow," he assured him.  
  
"My God, Lucas! Do you realise how amazing this is?" Bridger was beside himself. And then something astonishing happened.  
  
Lucas smiled.  
  
The smile lit up his face like the sun. Suddenly the grave, serious soldier was replaced by an excited and pleased young man. Bridger found himself almost more bowled over by the change in him than by the vocorder itself.  
  
"Lucas!" said the strange voice, and the smile slipped off the boy's voice as quickly as it had come, as if he had been startled out of his candidness. He looked slightly embarrassed again.  
  
"I'll just shut it off, it's getting pretty annoying," he said, and picked up a mass of wires and components from the floor. Bridger was still staring at him.  
  
"Are you really only sixteen, Lucas?" he said suddenly. Lucas looked up at him sharply, and frowned.  
  
"Yes, sir, as far as I know," he said, his face suddenly a mask once more. "Why do you ask?"  
  
Bridger shook his head in wonderment. "You know, I was working on something like this for years, but I never managed to make it work. Eventually I had to give up."  
  
Lucas straightened up. "I'm sorry sir, I didn't mean to tread on your toes."  
  
"Don't be ridiculous!" Bridger said, unable to wipe the grin from his face. "I'd love to have a look at the designs sometime."  
  
Lucas nodded curtly. "I'll go and fetch them now, sir."  
  
Bridger shook his head again, this time in dismay. "Lucas, you need to lighten up a little!"  
  
Lucas frowned. "Sir?"  
  
"Come on! You're a kid! You've got to relax!" Bridger laughed, feeling almost hysterical. Lucas was staring at him with an odd expression on his face. For a moment there was silence, Bridger fighting the impulse to burst out laughing. Then suddenly, he sank down to sit on the edge of the pool.  
  
"I miss Robert," he said, staring at a point some distance in front of him.  
  
Lucas sat down next to him with a deep sigh. "I miss him too," he said after a pause.  
  
"It's just not the same around here without him," Bridger added, feeling that the words were hopelessly inadequate, but unable to find any others. For a moment he felt Lucas' gaze on him, then the young man turned his face away.  
  
"No," he whispered. "No, it's not."  
  
They sat in silence there for a time, as they had a week or so before, watching the sun set in fiery splendour. Now they saw nothing but the bleak, gunmetal grey walls of the moon pool. Yet somehow Bridger felt more comforted now by the silent presence by his side. But there was something else they needed to discuss.  
  
"You know, Commander Ford's pretty upset about what happened on the bridge today."  
  
"He was wrong." There was no defiance or anger in the young man's voice. In fact, there was no emotion at all.  
  
"He was doing the best he could with what he had. If you had told him what you were doing, he would have allowed it."  
  
"I don't think so."  
  
Bridger sighed. "I know Jonathan can seem... cold sometimes, but he is a good soldier. Not only that, he is the XO of this ship. You of all people should know how important discipline and hierarchy are in this environment, Lucas. I know it's hard for you to adjust to not being in command, but you have to obey orders, just like the rest of us."  
  
"Will I be banned from the bridge?" Bridger looked up sharply. Had someone been spreading rumours?  
  
"No, no you won't," he said, in what he hoped was a reassuring tone of voice. "Just try to get along with Commander Ford in future. You two are more alike than you think."  
  
Lucas nodded, looking unconvinced. Bridger sighed, getting to his feet. For a moment he rested his hand on the young man's shoulder.  
  
"Well, I guess I'm off to bed," he said, faking a yawn. Lucas looked up at him. "You know, this really is an amazing achievement," Bridger added, gesturing at the mess of wires Lucas still held in his hand. The boy nodded gravely.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"You should get some sleep," Bridger added.  
  
"Thanks, Captain, but I think I'll stay here for a little while longer."  
  
"Whatever you want," Bridger said. As he exited the moon pool, he heard the low murmuring start up again, and smiled sadly. 


	5. Chapter 5

O seaQuest não pertence a mim.  
  
Wood saunas by the lake for all my very good-natured reviewers: Kiddo, ano, kas, Teresa, pari106, sara, hepatica and Zoe.  
  
Kiddo: I forgot to mention it in the chapter, but Lucas' quarters does have a window to the aquatubes – so at least half of your wish is my command ; ). Glad you like Bridger more now : ).  
  
Teresa: yeah, I miss Robert as well. Damn this war!  
  
sara and kas: good luck with your exams! I'm sure you'll both be fine. But kas, you'd better continue that story soon, or I'll come right down there to South Africa and do something evil to you! ; ).  
  
ano and Zoe: yeah, Lucas definitely needs a hug. Where do I sign up?  
  
pari106 and hepatica: thanks for all the encouragement! I love you guys!  
  
  
  
Ghosts  
  
Chapter 5  
  
When Lucas finally returned to his quarters, it was 0400 ship's time. O'Neill was sleeping peacefully. He sighed, and climbed into bed as quietly as possible, hoping to be able to get an hour or two of sleep before his shift started at 0630. But although his body felt exhausted, he found himself lying staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling, waiting for sleep that would not come. His eyes burned, but closing them brought no relief. It seemed there was no escape from the thoughts that threatened to send him mad.  
  
Something over an hour later, O'Neill's alarm went off. Lucas quickly closed his eyes and turned over, pretending to sleep, trying to give the other man as much of a sense of security as he could. He heard the lieutenant getting ready for his shift, obviously trying to make as little noise as possible. He realised his entire body was tense and rigid, and his back was starting to ache, but he didn't change position. Finally, O'Neill left, closing the hatch softly behind him, and Lucas sat up with a sigh.  
  
We can't go on like this, he thought.  
  
  
  
"What the hell is going on?" Bridger leaned forward and placed both palms flat on the Ward Room table. On the screen his old friend Admiral Bill Noyce shrugged helplessly.  
  
"We were hoping you could tell us that, Nathan," he said. "You were closer than anyone else to the front line."  
  
"There is no front line!" Nathan said incredulously. "We're not at war with Pacific South-West!"  
  
"Well, somebody sure seems to think we are," Noyce said. "Are you sure those ships were PSW?"  
  
"You think this could be a trick?" Ford, who had been sitting silently at the table with a tense expression, broke in suddenly.  
  
Noyce shook his head. "At this point, we'll take anything we can get. Our diplomats are working overtime on this one. We need to find out everything we can about what happened out there yesterday, and find it out fast. Anything you can get us would help."  
  
Nathan closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Then he nodded. "I'll do my best, Bill."  
  
The other man smiled wanly. "Thank you Nathan. I know you will. Noyce out."  
  
Bridger sighed and headed back to the bridge. Once there, he turned to look at Ford. The XO regarded him with a serious expression. "You know," the older man said reflectively, "there is one person who might be able to help us."  
  
Ford looked at him questioningly. Then he started to shake his head. "You can't mean..."  
  
Nathan nodded. "Who else?"  
  
"You can't be serious!" Ford said heatedly. But Bridger just raised his eyebrows.  
  
"Why on earth would I be joking at a time like this Commander?" The captain nodded towards O'Neill. Ford frowned.  
  
"Lieutenant, call Wolenczak to the bridge," he said reluctantly. O'Neill looked up in surprise, then nodded quickly and put his hand on his head- set.  
  
"Commander Wolenczak to the bridge," he said, then swallowed hard as Ford shot him a look. "Uh, Mr. Wolenczak to the bridge," he continued nervously.  
  
"I hope you're right about this," Ford said to Bridger.  
  
  
  
Lucas leaned back from the computer with a sigh. "Well, I can't find any evidence that they weren't Pacific South-West ships," he said, looking up at Captain Bridger and Commander Ford, who were hovering behind him. "The hardware and the software both check out. The signals they were giving off are genuine PSW call-signs. I did find something interesting though." He tapped a few commands into the console. "It seems that there may be some links between the PSWs and this break-in at a UEO facility a couple of weeks ago." A picture appeared on the screen of an abandoned-looking building, and information scrolled across the bottom. Ford leaned closer to the screen.  
  
"Hang on a second," he said, incredulously. "Even the existence of this facility is level ten classified! How the hell did you get this information?"  
  
Lucas looked up at him and raised one eyebrow. "You asked me to find out anything I could. This is what I found out."  
  
Ford opened his mouth to argue, but Bridger shot him a glance and he subsided, muttering under his breath. Bridger sighed inwardly, and nodded at Lucas. "Continue."  
  
Lucas nodded curtly. "I haven't been able to find out what was stolen or what exactly the facility does, but it seems like it was some kind of cutting edge military technology. The MO of the break-in is an exact match with various PSW operations in other confederations, and a piece of PSW hardware was left behind at the scene." He entered another command into the computer, and a picture of a small black disk appeared on the screen.  
  
"What is that?" Bridger asked, leaning closer.  
  
"It's a PSW homing device," Lucas said. Ford snorted.  
  
"It says the investigators haven't been able to identify it," he said. "How do you know what it is?"  
  
Lucas turned and stared coolly at the older man. "I have a working knowledge of the hardware and software of every confederation, Commander. How the hell do you think the Free Nations has managed to survive this long? Unfortunately for the UEO, it seems they are not quite so well- informed."  
  
Ford stared at him, but before an argument could erupt again, Bridger raised his hands. "OK, OK gentlemen," he said with authority. "Let's ease up on the animosity, we're all on the same side here. Lucas, did you find out anything else?"  
  
Lucas held Ford's gaze for a moment longer, then turned back to his console. "Yeah, as a matter of fact, I did," he said. Another picture appeared on the screen, this time an elegant looking man in his mid- forties. "This is Alexander Bourne. It seems that he is somehow connected with both the break-in and the attack on us. The subs received a communication from his base just before the attack, and one of the intruders at the facility was caught on camera mentioning the name 'Bourne'. The UEO investigators didn't link it to this guy because at the time the UEO was not at war with Pacific South-West."  
  
"I know that guy," Ford said, frowning. "Isn't he a member of the PSW government?"  
  
Lucas nodded. "That's right. He was appointed Minister of Defence three months ago. It seems he's been pushing ever since for the PSW to take a more aggressive stance against the UEO."  
  
Bridger shook his head grimly. "Looks like he won that argument," he said.  
  
  
  
Braithwaite was sick. Sick and tired of war. But now it seemed there was even more of it. Word had come across the ether that far away, almost on the other side of the world, seaQuest was being attacked – by the Pacific South-West Confederation. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The Free Nations' border with Pacific South-West was fairly negligible, but the UEO had a long one, and maybe, just maybe, the breaking of the truce would mean that their firepower was drawn, and the pressure would let up for a time. Time for them to regroup, lick their wounds.  
  
On the other hand, all the time in the world wasn't going to change the fact that the Alliance was fighting a losing battle. They had lost half their colonies over the past five years, precious technology, cropland and manpower. Thousands of lives had been lost. And Braithwaite couldn't bring himself to revel in yet more war.  
  
But what else could they do? Surrender? It was hardly an option. They had very little, it was true, but they had a semblance of independence, and the hope that, once the war was over and the wartime government stood down, they could somehow return to something resembling freedom. If they became occupied by the UEO, however, Braithwaite had little doubt about their fate: they would be accorded the status of affiliated colonies rather than member states, they would be forced into unfavourable trade agreements and lose what little natural resources they had left. The men and women of the Free Nations would have what the UEO called liberty, and maybe those who became rich through the selling off of their natural assets would be permitted to fawn at the heels of UEO bigwigs. But it would not be freedom. That was no choice at all.  
  
The com link beeped. Wearily, he reached over. "Braithwaite," he said, trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible.  
  
"Sir, we have a call for you from Admiral Nikita."  
  
  
  
The admiral watched him from the screen. He looked as old as Braithwaite felt. The captain remembered, back when the war had just begun, when the confederations were still in the process of forming, the day he had first met Nikita. He had admired the then-lieutenant commander's military bearing, the pride on his face as he strode through what had then been Singapore, pointing out the sights to the eager young ensign at his side. Singapore was gone now, of course, destroyed by war and the rising water levels. The man Nikita had been was gone too, and in his place was this exhausted, but still proud leader of men, still fighting after all hope was lost.  
  
"Will you accept the mission, Andrew?" Nikita asked.  
  
Braithwaite nodded. "Of course I will, Admiral," he said firmly. How could he not? Not that there seemed much point, but Nikita seemed to think that if they could only get their hands on this technology, they could use it to stave off the UEO, maybe even to bargain their way to a truce. Some chance of that, Braithwaite thought. If he knew the UEO, they wouldn't rest until they possessed every scrap of Free Nations territory, in the name of freedom. 


	6. Chapter 6

seaQuest er ekki minn.  
  
Ice cream! Lots of ice cream for all my reviewers: Crimson Amber, hepatica, PhoenixTears80, ano (x2!), Teresa, sara, pari106 and kas.  
  
OK, a leetle bit of bad language in this one. And it's short too. Don't all hit me at once...  
  
  
  
Ghosts  
  
Chapter 6  
  
Lucas sighed as he rested his head against the metal wall of the moon pool. The floor was cold and hard, but there was no point going back to bed. Even if he wasn't trying to stay away for O'Neill's sake, he wouldn't have been able to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Robert's face the last time he had seen it, the fear in his expression. During the day he was able to lose himself in the tasks set for him by the captain and Commander Hitchcock, to become nothing more than an extension of the data stream, and most nights he was able to concentrate on the vocorder. But tonight, Darwin was nowhere to be found, and the programming of the language base could not continue without him. And so Lucas found himself alone with his thoughts in the dimly lit moon pool.  
  
He slumped down slightly, still leaning back against the wall, and closed his eyes for a moment. Suddenly he heard a splash and a quiet cackle, and he sighed with relief: Darwin was back. Opening his eyes again, he started to stand up but suddenly froze. Darwin was indeed back, but he was not alone: a familiar jump-suited figure was kneeling by the pool, rubbing the dolphin's melon. Lucas hardly dared breathe; and suddenly the man turned to look at him and smiled, stretching out his hand.  
  
"Come on, Lucas," he said, "haven't you ever seen a dolphin before?"  
  
Slowly, as if in a dream, Lucas stood and walked over to the pool. "They said you were dead," he said, his voice sounding strange in his ears.  
  
The other man laughed. "Do I look dead to you? You need a holiday. We should go somewhere together."  
  
Lucas smiled. "I'd like that," he said in a soft voice.  
  
Suddenly Robert's face twisted in fear and pain. "It hurts, Lucas," he gasped, and fell to the floor. Lucas was on his knees beside him in a second, staring, horror-stricken, as his friend grimaced and clutched his stomach. "Make it stop," the young man moaned.  
  
"I don't know how," Lucas whispered, helplessly. Blood began to seep through Robert's fingers. His eyes were filled with terror.  
  
"But you're my friend," he said, and his voice was filled with betrayal. "You're my friend, Lucas. You have to help me."  
  
Lucas stared in horror as the young man's eyes grew dim. "Don't go, Robert," he cried, and suddenly found himself sitting sharply upright next to the wall of the moon pool. The lights were dim once more, and neither Darwin nor Robert Bridger were anywhere to be seen. Lucas put a hand up to his face; his cheeks were wet. For a moment he covered his eyes, leaning forwards, and breathed deeply, trying to press down the bubble that seemed to be swelling inside him. Then he stood up and strode out of the moon pool.  
  
  
  
Dr. Kristin Westphalen was suddenly awake and tense. Everything was quiet, and the room was dark, but she was sure she had heard a noise. Normally she was quite a difficult person to startle, but lately, living in a glorified sardine tin on the front line of a world war, she found herself more and more unsettled by noises in the night. There! There it was again. She breathed out heavily for a moment and tried to quieten her beating heart as she realised that the loud knocking was coming from her cabin door. Then she went to open it.  
  
She didn't know who she had been expecting, but it was certainly not who she saw. Lucas stood there, breathing hard as if he had been running, his skin almost translucent. She noticed the dark circles under his eyes immediately, as well as his unusually agitated manner; but his eyes were what arrested her attention: they were blazing with anger, and the strength of emotion contained there was enough to make her step back in alarm.  
  
"Are you ill?" she asked, but Lucas brushed past her without answering and began to pace frantically around the room, shaking his head and opening and closing his mouth as if trying to speak, though he made no sound.  
  
"What's wrong?" Westphalen asked, worried now. She had never seen the boy behave like this before – he was normally so calm and controlled. Too controlled, she had always thought. It wasn't healthy for one so young to be so intent on hiding their emotions. But they certainly weren't hidden now. Lucas had turned to face her across the room, fists clenched, still breathing heavily, and the force of his anger hit her like a wave. She was suddenly afraid, and then ashamed of herself for being so. For a moment they stood like that, frozen in tableau, the doctor hardly daring to breathe. Then Lucas turned away, and the spell was broken.  
  
Westphalen crossed the room, concern and confusion welling up inside her. "Lucas," she said gently, touching him on the shoulder. "What's wrong?"  
  
For a moment the boy simply stood there, head bowed, seeming to be struggling with something inside himself. Then he lifted his head, though he did not turn.  
  
"Everything's wrong," he said, calmly.  
  
Westphalen didn't know whether she was relieved or even more worried by Lucas' apparent regaining of control. "Tell me about it," she said, still speaking gently but now with a note of command in her voice. This was obviously something that needed dealing with right now.  
  
For a moment there was silence, and the doctor noticed that Lucas' shoulders were beginning to tremble. She wondered if he was crying. Then suddenly he whirled to face her and she stepped back again, seeing that he was shaking in rage, not sorrow.  
  
"He should never have been in this goddamn war!" the boy spat out, and it seemed that that one exclamation was enough to unleash the torrent of words that were bound up within him. "He wasn't meant to be a soldier! It was all so pointless! Who the hell do they think they are? They sit up there in their big houses and they think that people are just numbers, that one is the same as nothing. They think they can send innocent people to their deaths just to achieve their own goddamn dreams of power. And they glorify this fucking bloodbath to suit their own purposes. And he bought into it! He believed them! And look where that loyalty got him – they never even recovered the body, for Christ's sake! It's somewhere at the bottom of the ocean, and that's where it's going to stay. Forever." Lucas spun round again, burying his head in his hands. "It's all so fucking pointless," he said in a broken voice.  
  
Westphalen felt tears welling up inside of her, but not for Robert: she had already cried herself dry for that poor young man. These tears were for the lost and lonely boy before her, old before his time, who had seen too much in his short life, who had watched his best friend die and been powerless to prevent it. She put her hand on his shoulder again and gently turned him round. He lifted his face from his hands, and looked at her, and the despair and loneliness that she saw on that normally impassive face made her heart ache. Without speaking, she pulled him towards her, folding him in her arms, and hugged him tightly. For a moment, he was tense and rigid in her embrace, but then suddenly he collapsed bonelessly against her, and his shoulders began to shudder, with grief this time, as he wept until she thought her heart would break. 


	7. Chapter 7

seaQuest is niet mijn.  
  
Well, I think if the temperature where you are is anything like here, then what you need is an electric fan and a tall, cold drink. Nine orders coming up then, for kas, sara, hepatica, pari106, Ahn-Li Steffraini, ano, Zoe, PhoenixTears80 and Fiona.  
  
  
  
Ghosts  
  
Chapter 7  
  
"It's not that, it's just..." O'Neill paused, searching for the right word. "I don't know. I know he's supposed to be on our side now and everything, but it doesn't make it any easier to sleep at night."  
  
Miguel Ortiz shook his head. "Come on, Tim, give the poor kid a chance. I'd much rather have him as a roommate than Kaufmann. He snores like a steam engine."  
  
O'Neill smiled wanly, but seemed unconvinced. Ortiz sighed. "You've got to try and get over this, buddy," he said gently. "If you're going to stay in the navy you've got to try and get back in the saddle properly. You haven't been coping well ever since Aleutian Ridge." O'Neill looked up sharply at the name. Ortiz regarded him steadily. "You know it's the truth," he said, unsmiling. "You chose to come back, now you've got to follow through with your decision."  
  
"What does that have to do with this?" O'Neill asked, trying to suppress the crack in his voice.  
  
"Don't play innocent with me. You're the smart one, you know as well as I do that this is just a symptom of a bigger problem." O'Neill frowned, wishing his friend wasn't so damn clued up, and at the same time wishing he had the same gift of emotional intelligence. Ortiz smiled. "Look, just talk to the kid, OK? He's really a nice guy." The young Cuban stood up to leave, and as he did, the subject of their conversation appeared in the doorway. Ortiz grinned. "Hey Lucas," he said, nodding. "I was just on my way out."  
  
"Hi, Miguel," Lucas said, unsmiling. He looked exhausted, O'Neill observed. Well, it wasn't really a surprise: much to O'Neill's relief, the man seemed hardly to spend any time sleeping.  
  
O'Neill stood up too and started to follow Ortiz, but Lucas suddenly put a hand on his arm. "Can we talk?" he asked, watching the lieutenant with a grave expression. O'Neill looked pleadingly at Ortiz, but his friend just grinned and walked away. He drew a deep breath and went to sit at the table. Lucas sat opposite him and stared down at the table-top, fiddling with something. After a moment, O'Neill cleared his throat.  
  
"What was it you wanted?" he asked.  
  
Lucas looked up and their gazes locked. O'Neill wanted to look away, but found he couldn't. "Why are you afraid of me?" the young man said, and there was a note in his voice that O'Neill had not heard before, although he was not able immediately to identify it.  
  
The lieutenant cleared his throat, blinking in embarrassment and confusion. "I'm not afraid of you," he said, but his voice didn't sound convincing even to himself.  
  
"Don't screw around with me," Lucas said, and O'Neill thought that maybe the strange tone was anger. He flinched slightly. Something flickered across the other man's face, and he dropped his gaze to the table-top once more. "We've got to live with each other," he said in a low voice. "I'd like it if we could be friends."  
  
"Do you even have friends?" O'Neill couldn't believe he'd said his thought out loud, but there it was, hanging in the air between them. The young man looked up sharply, and for a moment his mask slipped and O'Neill saw nothing but hurt and loss on his face. Then he dropped his gaze again, and the moment was gone, as quickly as it had come.  
  
"I used to," he said, and his voice was almost a whisper.  
  
Suddenly, O'Neill had the urge to reach out and touch his arm, to take the step that would bridge the gulf between them, to follow Ortiz's advice. Suddenly before him sat not a vision of everything which terrified him, but a boy who was reaching out for a friend, and O'Neill wanted to reach back. But the impulse hit a solid wall of fear, fear that seemed to be ever- present now in O'Neill's gut, so much so that he had forgotten what it was like to live without it. He sat silent as the conflicting impulses battled for dominance within him; his heart told him to make the move; his gut told him to run. Torn, O'Neill did nothing at all.  
  
After a long moment, Lucas looked up once more. The teenager was gone, and the commander was back in his place. Only his eyes still seemed sad. He stood up from the table. "Well then, I guess I'll see you around," he said, and turned to head for the door.  
  
It was as the hatch closed behind him that O'Neill finally identified what the strange tone in the other man's voice had been.  
  
It was despair.  
  
  
  
Krieg leaned back in his chair and surveyed the crewmembers seated around the Ward Room table. These briefing meetings were always a good chance to check up on how morale was going among the senior staff. From the look of things, Krieg had his work cut out for him. Bridger had only been back on board for a week, but already he looked tired and depressed. Westphalen seemed sad and Ford tense and angry. O'Neill and Lucas were seated as far away from each other as possible; Krieg had heard all about that ongoing saga from Ortiz, but although O'Neill just looked a little nervous, Lucas looked as if he was running on empty. Even those crew members who weren't doing badly – Hitchcock, Crocker, Ortiz and himself – could hardly help being affected by the tense, unhappy atmosphere that seemed to be shrouding the majority of the senior crew. And what was true of them could hardly help but be true of the crew in general.  
  
Krieg sighed inwardly. The boat was heading for a morale disaster. He had to do something. And he knew who the lynchpin was: Bridger. For a moment, he allowed himself to dwell on the underlying cause of the captain's mood.  
  
Robert, he thought, if only you were here. Then he pushed that thought away as he always did. Bridger had come back to the boat, and Krieg was determined that he would make him see his decision through properly: a depressed captain was hardly better than no captain at all.  
  
Krieg's thoughts were cut off as Bridger rose from his seat to begin the meeting.  
  
"Thank you all for coming," the captain said, and Krieg raised a mental eyebrow.  
  
Well, you certainly seem to have taught your dad some humility, he noted. I wish he could have learned it some other way.  
  
The captain was surveying them all now, and he looked suddenly exhausted. "I'm afraid I have some bad news. As of 0800 hours this morning, the UEO is officially at war with the Pacific South-West Federation."  
  
Around the table, expressions of shock and worry appeared on the faces of the senior staff. Krieg felt his stomach drop – he, along with all the others, had hoped that the tensions they had experienced would be resolved diplomatically. Only Lucas seemed unaffected.  
  
"That's not all," Bridger added. "With the help of some information provided to them by members of this crew," here he glanced at Lucas, "UEO intelligence has ascertained that the PSWs were responsible for a break-in at the Barren Island Military Research Facility earlier this month. Top- secret military technology, of which there was no back-up copy, was stolen. Intelligence has traced the culprits back to the Fuji Arc." He tapped a button on the console in front of him. The Ward Room view-screen lit up with a map of an undersea mountain. Ford leaned forward.  
  
"But there's nothing there," he said, frowning.  
  
Bridger nodded. "That's what we thought too. But scans of the area have shown this." He pressed another button and a computer graphic cross-section of the ridge appeared on the screen.  
  
"It's hollow," Hitchcock gasped.  
  
"That's right," Bridger said grimly. "We have reason to believe that this is a top-secret PSW base. And the UEO wants us to destroy it.  
  
Hitchcock nodded thoughtfully. "That shouldn't be too difficult," she said. "If we train the lasers at the base of the mountain-"  
  
"I'm afraid it won't be that easy, Commander," Bridger said with a sigh. "The UEO wants the data that was stolen back before the base is destroyed. And there's no way we can get the seaQuest in close enough to fire on it. It's 500 kilometres over the border. We need to send in a team to do it."  
  
Everyone turned as a chair scraped back. Lucas was on his feet and at attention. "Sir, I request that you assign me to this mission."  
  
Before Bridger could say anything, Ford was on his feet as well. "Sir, it's my job to lead missions of this kind."  
  
Lucas didn't move a muscle, he didn't even look at Ford. Bridger looked from one to the other, and sighed. He nodded at Lucas. "At ease, Mr. Wolenczak. You're a civilian now, remember?"  
  
The young man relaxed infinitesimally. "Aye, sir, I remember," he said tonelessly.  
  
Bridger shook his head. "Why do you want to go on this mission, Lucas?"  
  
"With respect, sir, the UEO tends to use its power as a blunt instrument. This mission calls for subtlety. I have four years of combat experience in the Free Nations navy. Subtlety was our only defence. I've been on hundreds of missions of this kind."  
  
Bridger nodded thoughtfully. "Commander Ford?"  
  
Ford shook his head angrily. "That's complete nonsense. The UEO is just as capable of being subtle as anyone else. Besides, we need someone more... experienced to handle this."  
  
Bridger stood for a moment in silence, leaning over the table. Then he straightened up decisively. "Mr. Wolenczak, you will lead the mission. Choose three others to go with you and meet me in the briefing room in one hour."  
  
Lucas stood to attention again. "Sir, I want to go alone."  
  
Ford opened his mouth, but Bridger raised a hand to silence him. "Continue," he said to Lucas, frowning.  
  
"Four men are four times as likely to be caught as one. This isn't a combat mission, and there's no way I'd be able to fight my way out of there if push came to shove, whether I had four men or fourteen. I'd rather be able to concentrate on watching my own back without worrying about anyone else's."  
  
Bridger regarded him for a moment, then turned back to the table at large. "What do you all think?"  
  
Hitchcock spoke first. "I think Lucas is right," she said. "If he's the one to go, he should go alone."  
  
Crocker shook his head. "I don't like it. I agree with Commander Ford, we need more experienced personnel."  
  
Seems like 'experienced' is a pretty popular euphemism round here these days, Krieg thought to himself.  
  
"Captain," Ford said, but Bridger raised his hand again.  
  
"I know what you think, Commander," he said firmly. He stood for a moment, frowning, then turned to Lucas.  
  
"OK, Mr. Wolenczak, you've got it. You'll go alone. Briefing room in one hour. Dismissed."  
  
  
  
Krieg followed Lucas out of the Ward Room and down the corridor. When they were alone, he put his hand on the young man's arm. Lucas span around, then relaxed when he saw Krieg. "Hey, Ben."  
  
"Hey Lucas." Ben wondered where to start. He took a deep breath. "You know, you don't have to prove anything here. Maybe there are some people on this boat who still don't trust you, but the captain does and that's the important thing."  
  
Lucas regarded him gravely. "I gave up trying to prove myself years ago, Ben."  
  
"Then why volunteer for this mission?" Krieg asked, confused.  
  
Lucas shrugged. "I'm the best man for the job," he said simply.  
  
Krieg frowned. He had heard tales, of course, of Lucas' exploits on the bridge of the seaQuest eight months before. He knew the boy's past. But he personally had never seen him in action, and he found it hard to reconcile the serious-minded teenager before him with the highly-trained killer who had fast become legend in the mess-hall.  
  
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "Seems like Ford is not the only person I have to prove myself to," he said, the corner of his mouth quirking slightly upward.  
  
Krieg shook his head. "You don't have to prove anything to me Lucas. I just don't want you to get hurt, that's all."  
  
The smile died in Lucas' eyes. "I'm not like Robert, Ben. I can look after myself."  
  
At the mention of Robert's name, Krieg felt his heart sink. "I know you can. I'm not trying to patronise you. I'm just trying to be your friend."  
  
Lucas dropped his gaze and nodded. "I know. Thanks for trying."  
  
Then he turned and walked away. 


	8. Chapter 8

Ο seaQuest δεν εÎ¯ναι ο δικÏŒς μου.

A partridge in a pear tree for all you lovely reviewers out there: Kiddo, Mar, ano, kas, hepatica, sara, pari106, TeacherTam, Zoe and liz.

Kiddo: Yeah, Pro Patria Mori was my first fic, honest!

Mar: Nice to see you again! Hope the exams went well. As for O'Neill's past, check Pro Patria Mori chapter 2 for a little more discussion of his past.   
  
  
  
Ghosts  
  
Chapter 8  
  
Lucas checked the backpack for the hundredth time. The explosives were all there, as was the brand new palm-top computer that Bridger had requisitioned for him from the UEO. He still hadn't managed to work out all the bugs in the programme, but his Free Nations computer, to which he had made several improvements, had been confiscated after the incident at the uranium mine. He sighed and leaned back. It was going to be a long trip: ten hours. The one-man subfighter could make it in one and a half, easy, but he had to make sure his energy signature was disguised by the ambient energy in the area, so the pace had to be slow. At least the damn thing had an autopilot. Lucas brought up the map of the terrain between the seaQuest and the Fuji Arc that he had programmed into the sub's computer earlier, and set a course to follow the ocean floor as closely as possible. With any luck, his precautions would allow him to slip under the sensors of any PSW patrols he might pass on the way.  
  
Once the course was set and the tiny sub had started moving, he settled back in the pilot's chair. He knew he had to get some sleep: he would be no use on this mission if he was exhausted. At least here he didn't need to worry about O'Neill. The cramped cockpit was not the most comfortable of sleeping quarters, but he'd had much worse. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.  
  
  
  
He was woken by a beeping noise. He sat up straight and quickly checked the chronometer. He had been asleep for six hours; he was already deep in Pacific South-West territory, and the proximity sensor was going off. Quickly, Lucas shut off all the power and allowed the subfighter to sink gently down into the silt of the ocean floor. He waited. Somewhere up there, above the hundreds of metres of water that pressed down on him, it was night. At the bottom of the ocean, the darkness was complete.  
  
Or was it? In the distance he thought he could make out two pinpricks of light. They grew larger. A sub. Lucas resisted the urge to turn on the power and scan it: stealth was his best defence now. He hunched down in the seat, although he knew that it wouldn't help him go unnoticed. The lights came closer. Closer. It seemed to Lucas as if they were heading right for him. For a moment, the cockpit was illuminated, and he froze, staring into the light, feeling the sweat trickle down his back. Then the lights passed overhead, and he let out the breath he had been holding with a sigh, wiping the sweat off his forehead. He waited. Ten minutes. Twenty. Thirty. There was no more activity. Finally, he turned the power back and resumed his slow progress towards his goal.  
  
He wasn't able to sleep again: his nerves were still jangling. But he felt refreshed from the long, dreamless sleep he had had, and he was ready for action. The long hours passed by, with time seeming to stand still; if it hadn't been for the quiet purr of the sub's engine and the lights of the instrument panel, Lucas wouldn't have been sure he was alive at all. He could see nothing through the thick perspex window at the front of the cockpit. He guided the shuttle using a combination of the sensors and the computer map, until, finally, a great, dark blue mass loomed on the graphic: the ridge. Lucas piloted the sub round into a fold of the mountain and took out his computer. He was close enough to hack into the base's systems. According to intelligence there was a disused entrance not far from where he sat. It would be risky leaving the sub there, but he hoped to be in and out fast enough that no-one would notice it. But first he had to manipulate the base's internal sensor array into thinking that there was no- one there.  
  
Lucas worked for a long while. Sweat stood out on his forehead. It was a difficult job: not only did he have to hack into the sensors, he had to cover his tracks to make sure no-one knew he was there. Each step he took had to be carefully planned and executed.  
  
Finally, though, he found the sensors connected to the entrance and fed a loop of data into them. He backed slowly out of the system, leaving as many doors open as he could, so that he could use them later if necessary. Then he turned his attention to the system controlling the docking port. That was a piece of cake: it seemed that the PSWs felt pretty secure with their camouflaged base deep in their own territory. Never underestimate a computer genius, Lucas thought with a bitter smile.  
  
The docking port cycled open and Lucas piloted the sub fighter carefully inside. Once the doors were shut again, he looked out through the perspex windshield. It was dark. He scanned the area: no-one seemed to be around. Taking a deep breath, he cracked open the cockpit, grabbed his pulse rifle and backpack and scrambled up onto the main floor level about five feet above the sub.  
  
The room was lit only by a faint light coming from an overhead grille. It was large, although in the half-light he couldn't make out exactly how large, and filled with shadows and odd, bulky shapes. Lucas looked carefully around. Piles of crates obscured his view. It was obvious that this room was being used for storage. Well, that was definitely a good start. He made a quick sweep of the room and spotted an unused tarpaulin. He dragged it over to the docking port and covered the sub. Looking down critically at the lumpy, shapeless mass, he sighed. That'll have to do, he thought, hoping his luck didn't run out.  
  
He called up a plan of the building from the base computers, and searched for a while. He found what he was looking for before too long: the ventilation system. Always works, he thought, shaking his head in amused astonishment. If I ever design something like this, I'm going to make the ventilation shafts too small even for a child.  
  
A reasonable sized repair duct led up from the very room he was standing in. Someone up there was on his side. He crossed to the far wall, and managed to find the panel by groping around in the dark. He pulled a screwdriver out of his backpack pocket and had the panel off the wall in a matter of minutes. He stared at the gaping dark hole for a moment. It was half hidden by a shelf full of jars and bottles, but it was still pretty obvious. Oh well, he thought to himself, climbing into the duct and pulling the panel after him so that it leaned against the hole and mostly covered it, can't win 'em all. There was one thing to be grateful for: the duct was tall enough for him to walk half-upright. He didn't have to crawl. Yet.  
  
Once he was a reasonable way into the shaft, he pulled up the plans again. He spent a few minutes calculating the five weakest spots in the structural system. That was where he would put the explosives. There were several large rooms near the centre of the base labelled "labs". He guessed that was where he would find the disk. Quickly, he worked out a route that would take him past four of the weak spots, then on to the labs before hitting the central structural pillar. He figured that he could probably take the building out with only four explosives, so that if he was caught while retrieving the disk, he would at least be able to carry out half of the mission. Better to be safe than sorry though. He shouldered his backpack, shifted his pulse rifle into a more comfortable position, and set off.  
  
  
  
Hours later, Lucas was exhausted. The base was bigger than he had thought, and he had been trekking through the ventilation shafts for what felt like miles, sometimes crawling, sometimes half-walking. It was no easy feat to move around quietly when you were wearing military-issue boots and walking on metal. He had had to wait nearly two hours for a couple of technicians to finish what they were doing before he could set up the fourth explosive, and he was getting nervous about timing. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed the sub or the loose panel. But now he had the hardest part of the task in front of him: retrieving the disk.  
  
He was watching the main lab through a ventilation grille, trying to work out what they were doing. He couldn't see very well, but he could see several computers with various disks scattered around. He squinted through the grille, staring at one disk in particular: he couldn't be sure, but it looked like it had a UEO logo.  
  
It was night again, and most of the lab technicians seemed to be off duty, for which he was grateful. There were still one or two wandering round, but both seemed to be out of the room for the moment. Time to take his chances. Thank God this grille was attached to a hatch rather than a screwed-down panel. Well, he thought, here goes nothing.  
  
He opened the hatch, cautiously but quickly, and crossed the room noiselessly. There was the disk on the table: it did have a UEO logo. All my missions should be this easy, Lucas thought gratefully, grabbing the disk and slipping it into his pocket. Then he froze at a cool voice from behind him.  
  
"Turn around with your hands in the air."


	9. Chapter 9

Does dim seaQuest gan i.  
  
A bed of roses for these wonderful people: Mar, Teresa, TeacherTam, KatKnits00, kas, pari106, ano, sara and hepatica.  
  
Mar: lol! Yeah, I can just see Ford in an apron...  
  
KatKnits00: : )  
  
Hepatica: no peeking this time!  
  
  
  
Ghosts  
  
Chapter 9  
  
Lucas felt his stomach lurch. Stupid, stupid, he thought, as he raised his hands slowly in the air and turned. You told the captain you were the best man for the job. Guess you must be losing your touch.  
  
A middle-aged man in a white lab coat was standing behind him, aiming a rifle towards his head. He looked scared, although he did a creditable job of hiding it. Lucas thought fast. Well, it works with O'Neill, he thought, and quickly pulled on what Robert had referred to as his "military mask". The technician looked even more scared.  
  
"Who are you?" he asked, and though his voice was calm, Lucas detected a slight tremor in the gun barrel. He said nothing, staring at the man coolly and without malice. The man stared back, looking more and more unsure of himself. Then suddenly he started to turn, to call for help. That was what Lucas had been waiting for: he pounced, sweeping the man's legs out from under him with a practised move and landing on his chest, his hand over the technician's mouth.  
  
"Make a sound, and I'll kill you," he whispered. The technician nodded, terrified.  
  
Lucas took the gun from the man's unresisting hands and flipped it over. He inspected it quickly, then turned back to his hostage. "Sorry about this," he muttered, and brought the gun down hard on the man's forehead. The technician's eyes rolled back in his head. Lucas sighed, and looked around for some rope.  
  
  
  
Bridger sighed. "Is this really necessary?"  
  
Krieg nodded with a grin. "Come on, Captain. It's fun!"  
  
Bridger rolled his eyes. "Maybe for you."  
  
Krieg laughed, swerving. "Hey, watch out for that rock!"  
  
Bridger flinched as part of his sub went flying. "Too slow, old man," Krieg said, laughing. "You're going to be at the bottom of the ocean if you don't watch out."  
  
"That's it!" Bridger reached up and flicked a switch. The simulation ended. Krieg sat up, blinking in the lights of his quarters. Bridger raised his eyebrows. "Too slow, old man?"  
  
Krieg looked embarrassed. "Sorry, sir. I was caught up in the moment."  
  
The older man shook his head. "What's this all about, Krieg? You know, it's not normal to invite your captain to play computer games with you."  
  
Krieg swivelled so he was sitting upright, and sighed. "I just thought it would be fun, that's all."  
  
"You thought I needed some fun," Bridger said. Krieg said nothing. "Look, I appreciate how seriously you take your job, but morale raising is for the rest of the crew, not the captain." He stood up to go, but Krieg looked up.  
  
"I beg to differ, sir," he said, quietly. "I've read my job description, and I'm responsible for the morale of every member of this crew. You most of all. If you didn't think you could go through with this, you shouldn't have come back on board this crate."  
  
Bridger sat down heavily on the bed, and put his head in his hands. Krieg stared at him, wondering what to do. He wished Westphalen were there.  
  
"Why did you come back?" he asked, gently.  
  
"It was something Lucas said," Bridger voice came from behind his hands. "And now he's gone too. Is this what I do now?" he looked up suddenly, his face a mask of despair. "Is it my job to send young men to their deaths?"  
  
Krieg shook his head. "Lucas is going to be fine. He can take care of himself." Wishing he felt as confident as he sounded.  
  
The captain shook his head. "That's what I thought... last time."  
  
Krieg sighed and closed his eyes. Words were not enough. They were never enough. How could he persuade this man that his son's death had not been his fault? How could he persuade him, when, late at night, somewhere deep in the recesses of his soul, a little voice whispered that it was? Think of something, Krieg, he thought, angrily. This is what you do, for God's sake! But morale was one thing; heart-to-heart talks was another. And all he could come up with was:  
  
"It wasn't your fault."  
  
Bridger looked at him sadly. "He was your best friend. Can you honestly say you don't blame me for what happened?"  
  
Krieg chewed the inside of his lip, and wondered if the captain was psychic. "Blame is not an issue," he said, finally. "I've blamed everyone and no-one. I've blamed myself, I've blamed you, I've even blamed Lucas. But none of it will bring him back."  
  
Bridger looked unconvinced, and bowed his head. "Why am I telling you all this?" he asked quietly.  
  
The younger man looked at his hands. "Because I'm listening."  
  
For a long moment, the two men sat in silence, each remembering – and trying to forget. Then Bridger drew in a deep breath. "OK then, Lieutenant," he said decisively. "Switch this thing back on. And this time, I'm going to win."  
  
  
  
Lucas sat up from screwing the panel shut, and shook his head wearily. He felt angry with himself for getting caught, and making so much extra work for himself. Eventually, someone was going to notice the tech was missing. He only hoped the guy wasn't the life and soul of the party; he only needed a couple more hours, and then he could get out of here.  
  
"Sleep tight, man," he said quietly, and patted the panel. He hoped the guy wasn't too upset when he woke up.  
  
The final point on his itinerary – the central pillar – was two shafts over. That meant at least half an hour of crawling up and down the labyrinth of ducts and shafts to find ones he could fit through. Better get going then, he thought, and shouldered his backpack. At least it was getting lighter: only one explosive left now. Suddenly he stopped. A strange feeling had struck him. He wasn't sure what it was, but he suddenly felt very insecure. Unslinging the pack again, he pulled out the screwdriver once more and quickly opened another panel on the side of the shaft. There was just enough room. Good. He quickly pulled out his palm top – checking first to see that he still wasn't registering on the sensors, and disabling them for the remainder of his route – and the data disk, and stuffed them both into the cavity. Then he replaced the wall panel hastily, and moved quickly away.  
  
The shaft that backed onto the central pillar was wider and taller than usual; Lucas surmised they used it for maintenance to the structural support. Well, that's kind of what I'm going to use it for, too, he thought. He put down his rifle and the now empty backpack, and walked a little way up the shaft, and then back down again, examining the wall carefully and enjoying the feeling of being able to stand upright. Without the palm top, he had to rely on memory to tell him where the best spot to place the explosive would be. But he soon found a likely candidate: at one point an irregularity in the shaft wall formed a small, dark corner. Perfect. He knelt, placing the device against the wall, and activated the magnetic charge. Then he quickly typed in the pass-code and set the explosive to go off on command from his palm top. Let's hope no-one else finds it first, he thought to himself. He was just typing in the last number when a red flashing light filled the shaft.  
  
"Intruder alert! Intruder alert!" a loud, mechanical voice yelled, seemingly right by his ear. Lucas was on his feet in seconds, staring around himself in horror. On either side, metal doors were closing, extending downwards from the ceiling and upwards from the floor, sealing off the compartment he was in. Guess they aren't such slouches in the security department after all, he thought, calculating quickly. His pulse rifle was to the right, on the other side of a fast-closing door, but his way back to the disk and – ultimately – the sub was on the left. Making a decision, Lucas threw himself leftwards through the rapidly narrowing gap, rolling as he hit the floor. Hearing the door slam shut behind him, he straightened up, only to find himself face to astonished face with Andrew Braithwaite. 


	10. Chapter 10

seaQuest ist nicht mein.  
  
Spectacular sunsets for all of the kind people who have reviewed: kas, pari106, Zoe, sara, TeacherTam, ano, KatKnits00, Teresa and hepatica.  
  
For everyone who's confused about what the hell Braithwaite is doing in the ventilation shafts in a PSW base (fixing the air conditioning? I don't think so...), take a look at chapter 5 of this fic. I didn't mean it to be confusing, but I didn't want it to be too obvious that he was going to turn up either – any criticisms about the way I've handled things are, as always, gratefully received.  
  
sara: you're quite right, The Alliance of Free Nations and the Pacific South-West Federation are two different confederations, although they only share a short border so they don't have much to do with each other. Both are more concerned with the UEO.  
  
Well, I have a feeling you're all going to hate me for this....  
  
  
  
Ghosts  
  
Chapter 10  
  
Braithwaite stared in astonishment at the familiar figure who had just come barrelling through the security doors. Both men stood for a moment, watching each other warily in the room lit only by the red flash of the security alert. Then Braithwaite spoke.  
  
"Commander Wolenczak. We must stop meeting like this."  
  
Wolenczak nodded once, his face calm. "Captain."  
  
"What are you doing here?" Braithwaite asked, seeing that Wolenczak was backing slowly away, and realising to his surprise that the young man did not appear to have a weapon. He kept his own rifle trained on his former commander's chest.  
  
"I could ask you the same thing."  
  
For a moment the only sound was the siren's shriek, then Braithwaite shook his head.  
  
"So. You did defect after all. I didn't want to believe it."  
  
Wolenczak's expression did not change. "No, Captain. I didn't defect. I'm still fighting for what I believe in."  
  
Braithwaite raised an eyebrow. "For the UEO?"  
  
Slowly, the other man shook his head, never taking his eyes off Braithwaite or the weapon that was pointed in his direction. "No. Not for them. For us."  
  
Braithwaite frowned, and then sighed. He felt suddenly very old. "Well, I suppose it doesn't matter much any more. You understand what I have to do."  
  
Wolenczak straightened to attention. "I understand," he said, regarding the older man unflinchingly.  
  
Braithwaite nodded, and brought the barrel of his rifle up until it was pointing toward his former commander's forehead. He felt like he should say something, but everything had already been said. Unable to meet the young man's defiant stare, he looked away.  
  
And squeezed the trigger. 


	11. Chapter 11

SeaQuest n'est pas à moi.  
  
Jelly beans by the bucketload for those lovely reviewers: LizU, Crimson Amber, ano, Zoe, KatKnits00, Diena, sara, Kiddo, hepatica, Teresa1, pari106 and TeacherTam, and to Mar for reviewing chapter 9.  
  
Kiddo: yeah, my German is somewhat... rickety ; ). Glad you appreciated it though.  
  
  
  
Ghosts  
  
Chapter 11  
  
Time seemed to stand still as a hundred thoughts rushed through Lucas' head at once. He could hear his mother singing softly in his ear, and in his mind's eye he saw Robert smiling at him. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the idea of sleep, cool and gentle. It wasn't like there was anything left for him here anyway. And here, now, he was being offered a way out of the sticky mess his life had become.  
  
But from deep down inside him a different feeling welled up, a burning, desperate desire to live, to keep on fighting, no matter how much of a struggle it was. He had resigned himself to death once before; but then it had seemed like the best option, for the greater good. Here, in this metal box, at the hands of a man he had once called his friend, it just seemed tawdry. He wasn't ready yet. And yet, his mother's voice still sang.  
  
He watched as Braithwaite raised his gun, almost in slow motion. This is it, Wolenczak, he thought. Do or die. Literally. Time to choose.  
  
And he chose: to do.  
  
Even as Braithwaite squeezed the trigger, he started to move. He leaped sideways. The report of the rifle was loud in the sealed compartment, bouncing and reverberating off the metal walls, but it was nothing compared to what happened next. Even as he felt the impact in his shoulder, the air filled with an ear splitting shriek. Lucas may have cried out; he couldn't tell, he couldn't hear anything over the dreadful wailing noise. He hit the floor heavily and curled into a foetal position, jamming his hands over his ears, but he couldn't keep it out. He felt as if his head was going to explode, and felt something wet seeping out of his ears.  
  
Then, mercifully, he lost consciousness.  
  
  
  
"Minister Bourne, Commander Jason is on line 2 for you."  
  
Bourne frowned, and cut off Beethoven with the touch of a button. "Put him on," he said, with a wave of his hand, although the secretary couldn't see him. A moment later, Jason's face appeared on his vid-screen. He didn't smile at the nervous-looking man.  
  
"Commander. I trust you have a good reason for calling?"  
  
The man nodded his head. "Yes, sir. We've had an... incident."  
  
Bourne sat up. "What sort of incident?"  
  
"Intruders. Two of them."  
  
"What?!" Bourne stared at him. "No-one even knows that base exists!" The commander shrugged helplessly, and Bourne sighed in exasperation. "What confederation are they from?"  
  
"We don't know, sir. We used the sonic stun system on them. They haven't woken up yet."  
  
Bourne frowned. "Well when they do, find out who sent them, and why. Use any means necessary."  
  
Jason nodded. "I understand, sir. Then what?"  
  
Bourne smiled. "Well, we can always use new test subjects," he said. "Keep me informed."  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
When Jason's image had disappeared from the screen, Bourne switched the music back on. But he was no longer able to relax. Alone in his office, with no-one to see, the minister brought his fist down hard on his desk and cursed.  
  
  
  
Braithwaite was awake. He knew he was awake, because sleeping was never this painful. He felt like someone had driven a spike into his head, and his ears were ringing like crazy. He opened one eye a fraction, then shut it again quickly. Not a good idea. After a while, he started testing each of his limbs. They all seemed to be working. Nothing hurt except his head. But that was doing a damn good job of making up for everything else.  
  
Slowly, he opened his eyes again. The light was painful, but he forced himself to bear it until the pain lessened. He was lying on his back, staring straight up. He was in some kind of room with a very low ceiling. Cautiously, he turned his head. He paused for a moment, waiting for the throbbing to subside, and noted that he was on a bed. One wall of the room was bars, and beyond them there was another room: empty. So. A jail of some kind.  
  
He experimented with sitting up, and had to cling onto the bed frame, fighting down a wave of nausea. He gripped tightly, his eyes closed, concentrating on the pain of the metal frame cutting into his fingers until the room had stopped swimming. Then he opened his eyes again.  
  
That was why the ceiling was low. He was on the top bunk. He looked down. It seemed like a long way to the floor, and there was only one way to get down. Carefully, he slipped off the bunk, but his legs gave way and he found himself in a heap on the floor. He struggled slowly to his feet, clinging onto to one of the vertical bedposts, until finally he was standing – sort of. He gripped the bedpost, eyes closed, gasping for breath and feeling the sweat standing out on his forehead. What the hell is going on? he wondered.  
  
The pain in his head wasn't so overwhelming now, but his ears were still ringing and the nausea wasn't helping matters. He opened his eyes carefully, and noticed that the lower bunk was also occupied. Wolenczak was lying there, unconscious, his face pale. A rough bandage was wrapped around his left shoulder, and a line of dried blood dripped down from his ear. Braithwaite put his hand to his own ear and rubbed the skin. His fingers came away red. Some kind of sonic weapon, he thought.  
  
He leaned over carefully and shook Wolenczak by the unbandaged shoulder. "Hey, Wolenczak, wake up," he said. His voice sounded thick and unsteady. The young man did not respond.  
  
Braithwaite tried again, shaking him a little harder. "Come on, Commander, move your ass."  
  
Suddenly, Wolenczak's blue eyes snapped open. He was on his feet in an instant, and an instant later he was lying on the floor, groaning, his eyes squeezed shut. Braithwaite looked down at him in pity. "Take it easy, kid," he said.  
  
After a moment, the young man opened one eye and looked up at him. "Captain Braithwaite?" he asked, sounding confused.  
  
Braithwaite sighed, and sat down next to him on the floor. Given the state of his legs, it seemed like the safest option. "Yeah, it's me. Guess we're cell mates. We'll save the tearful reunion for later, if you don't mind."  
  
"What... happened?" Wolenczak's voice was muffled. He had closed his eyes again.  
  
"They must have used some kind of sound-based weapon on us," Braithwaite said. "My balance is totally shot. Although I seem to be doing better than you."  
  
Wolenczak didn't answer. Braithwaite looked at his bandaged shoulder and gave it an experimental prod. Wolenczak groaned and curled up even tighter. Braithwaite started to shake his head, then remembered why that wasn't a good idea. We're screwed, he thought.  
  
  
  
"This had better be good, Ensign."  
  
Ensign Hardcastle looked up and stood to attention. "Sir, the prisoners are awake, sir."  
  
Jason looked down at the security camera. The older man was sitting on the floor in the middle of the cell. The younger was lying in a foetal position next to him. He allowed himself a grim smile. "Good. I'll get Dwight onto them."  
  
  
  
Lucas was just starting to see in single vision again when the door to the outer part of the jail opened. He turned his head to see who it was. A woman, in her mid-thirties with dark hair, stood on the other side of the bars watching them. She has a kind face, thought Lucas dreamily.  
  
Braithwaite struggled to his feet. The woman smiled. "Good morning," she said gently. "My name is Rebecca."  
  
Neither man answered. Lucas tried to concentrate on thinking about something else, anything, but the ringing in his ears was very distracting.  
  
The woman's eyes flicked from one man to the other. "I see you have been mistreated," she said, and her voice was full of kindness. "I must apologise on behalf of my president. We'll be moving you to better guest quarters just as soon as you tell us who sent you." She waited.  
  
"Braithwaite, Andrew George. Captain. 736-45H."  
  
"I see," the woman said coolly. Then she turned to Lucas, smiling kindly. "Do you need some help?"  
  
With a huge effort of will, Lucas forced himself to his knees, then struggled to his feet, clinging on to the bed frame. He stood, swaying, his eyes closed. For a moment he thought he might throw up. Finally, the floor stopped rocking, and he opened his eyes and returned the woman's gaze as calmly as he could. Her face hardened slightly. Lucas swallowed, forcing his thick tongue to work. "Wolenczak, Lucas Daniel. No rank." He saw Braithwaite's shoulders twitch slightly.  
  
The woman sighed. "We can do this the hard way, if you prefer," she said sorrowfully. "But I really think it would be easier if you just told me who sent you now. We'll find out eventually. This way you can save us all a great deal of unpleasantness."  
  
Lucas concentrated on keeping his features blank. Her threats frightened him. It seemed to him that he'd spent most of his recent life going from prison to prison and interrogation to interrogation. The last time... no, he wasn't ready to think about that yet. For now, all he could do was keep quiet, and concentrate on staying on his feet.  
  
The woman – Rebecca – looked at them sadly and then went to the door. "We'll be needing your services after all, gentlemen," she said mournfully to whoever was standing in the corridor. Two thick-set men appeared in the room, the first unlocking the cell door. Braithwaite and Lucas stayed stock still, watching the men warily. The first grabbed Braithwaite by the elbows and pulled his arms back, pointing a gun at his back.  
  
"Move," he snarled. The second followed suit with Lucas. Lucas felt a stab of pain as his injured arm was wrenched back and bit back a cry. He stumbled as he was pulled away from the support of the bed frame, and got a kick in the ankle for his trouble. Setting his teeth, he poured all his energy into moving his feet. Here we go again, he thought grimly. 


	12. Chapter 12

seaQuest m hai ngo ge.  
  
A feeling of deep inner peace for all my reviewers: Whosyourdaddy, KatKnits00, hepatica, ano, Teresa, Fiona, TeacherTam, Mar, pari106 and sara. I could just hug all you guys!  
  
  
  
Ghosts  
  
Chapter 12  
  
Lucas was getting bored of reciting his name. He didn't even have a rank and serial number to go with it. He was also getting bored of Rebecca's soulful look. Who the hell does she think she's fooling? he thought bitterly. She was giving him one now.  
  
"Your friend has already told us which confederation the two of you are from," she said, gently. "All you have to do is confirm it and all this will be over."  
  
Lucas stared back at her, unflinching. You'll have to do better than that, he thought grimly. Didn't I tell you I'm a genius? Oh, I guess I didn't tell you anything. Hah!  
  
The blow caught him on the side of the jaw, snapping his head round. He spat blood onto the floor, and then turned his head back to stare at Rebecca one more. He could tell she didn't like it; it seemed to unsettle her. He allowed himself a grim, inward smile. Their interrogation technique really was a little rough around the edges. They seemed to think that punching him was going to persuade him to spill the beans. They're obviously not used to it, he thought. But sooner or later they're going to transfer you to a proper jail where they know how to do this torture stuff. Unless you get out of here first. Time to make a plan.  
  
  
  
Braithwaite sat up when the outer door opened. Rebecca walked in first, followed by the two beefy men. They were dragging Wolenczak between them – he seemed to be unconscious, or at least unable to walk. His head was hanging down so that Braithwaite couldn't see his face, but the older man turned his head away in pity anyway. It seemed he himself had got off lightly, he thought, rubbing his bruised jaw.  
  
The men flung Wolenczak onto the lower bunk and then left the cell. Rebecca stayed behind for a moment, watching Braithwaite with those mournful eyes.  
  
"Are you hungry?" she asked. Braithwaite didn't answer. "We have a very good chef on the base. He could make you anything you want."  
  
Braithwaite snorted inwardly. Amateur. After a couple more minutes of the silent treatment, the woman gave up and left. Once he was sure she was gone, Braithwaite scrambled down from the top bunk and leant over Wolenczak. The boy was curled up on the bed facing him. His eyes were shut and his face was pretty banged-up. Braithwaite shook him gently.  
  
"Commander. Wolenczak. You OK?"  
  
One of the young man's blue eyes snapped open briefly. Braithwaite was surprised to see it looked totally clear and alert. "I'm fine," Wolenczak muttered. "But make it look like I'm not."  
  
Braithwaite frowned, confused, but was game enough. He shook the boy's shoulder harder. "Come on, Wolenczak, don't you die on me," he said loudly. "Come back. Come on!"  
  
After a couple of minutes of similar admonishments, Braithwaite stood up straight and covered his face in his hands for a moment, doing his best despairing look. Then he climbed back up to his bed and sat, looking despondent. He heard Wolenczak shift position.  
  
After a moment a whisper came up from the lower bunk. "Lie down facing the wall."  
  
Braithwaite obeyed, then said, "Why?"  
  
"That way they can't see that we're having a conversation."  
  
"How do you know they can't hear us?" Braithwaite asked in a low voice.  
  
"Because they still think we're on the same side," came the answer. Braithwaite digested this for a moment.  
  
"I trust you have a plan, Commander," he said finally.  
  
"Don't I always?"  
  
  
  
After Lucas had finished explaining his plan to Braithwaite, there was silence for a short time. He could almost see his former captain frowning speculatively. Then came the question, as it always did:  
  
"Great plan. Will it work?"  
  
Lucas sighed. "It's all I got," he said. It seemed to him that none of his plans had been working very well in recent months, but he didn't point this out to Braithwaite.  
  
There was silence for a while longer, and Lucas thought that Braithwaite must have gone to sleep. Then, suddenly, his voice came down from the top bunk once more.  
  
"So, you gonna tell me about it?"  
  
"About what?"  
  
"About why you changed sides."  
  
Lucas sighed again. How could he explain this to Braithwaite? The man had been fighting for the Free Nations since the war started. He was incredibly loyal. And his ideas about the war and the enemy were very different from what Lucas' had become. Still, he owed it to him to at least try and explain.  
  
"I didn't change sides," he said slowly, trying to think his way through it all. "I just stopped believing in the rights and wrongs of it all."  
  
Braithwaite was silent for a moment, digesting that. He had always been a man who liked to chew things over before giving his verdict.  
  
"Why fight for the UEO instead of the Free Nations, then?" he asked finally. "Why not just stop fighting all together?"  
  
Lucas closed his eyes. That hadn't been the response he had been expecting. "How can I?" he asked, his voice close to a whisper. "What else could I do?"  
  
Braithwaite snorted. "Come on, Lucas," he said. "You've got smarts. You could do anything you want."  
  
"As a Free Nations citizen? All I could do would be sit back and watch my home get parcelled up by rival confederations."  
  
"So you just thought you'd help them finish the job?" Braithwaite's voice was angry now, though still quiet.  
  
Lucas didn't know how to explain what he had done. Sometimes he wasn't even sure himself why it had all happened, so how was he going to explain it to someone else? "Captain, you know, the Free Nations is never going to win this war," he said quietly. "And to be honest, I'm not sure it would be a good thing if it did. I don't care about the governments any more, none of them are fit to run a children's play, let alone rule millions of people's lives. I want to fight for us, for all of us who are stuck in this shitty war because of someone else's ambition. If the best way I can do that is by fighting with the UEO, so be it." It sounded like a good explanation, but Lucas felt somehow that it was lame. Totally lame.  
  
Braithwaite felt so too. "So that's it, is it? That's your big reason?"  
  
"What else is there to say? I did what I thought was right."  
  
There was a pause, then Braithwaite sighed audibly. "I guess that's all any of us can do."  
  
  
  
It was still the middle of the night when Braithwaite was awakened by the sound of the outer door opening. The lights came on and he blinked, then suddenly remembered Wolenczak's plan. He groaned loudly and sat up, breathing hard. He wiped the back of his hand across his bruised cheek in an exhausted gesture, and turned to look at Rebecca. She smiled.  
  
"Good morning. How are we feeling?"  
  
Braithwaite shook his head wearily, grimacing in pain. His head drooped between his shoulder blades.  
  
"More inclined to tell us who sent you?" Rebecca asked brightly. At that Braithwaite gave her his best glare. Her mouth twitched.  
  
"Fair enough. I have a surprise for you today."  
  
She nodded at the open doorway and the two goons from the day before entered. The cell door was unlocked, as before, and the first man crossed to the lower bunk and reached in.  
  
"Come on sunshine," he said. "Time to get up." He dragged Wolenczak out like a rag doll and shook him. Wolenczak's eyes opened, and Braithwaite saw they were filled with fear and confusion. He groaned, and tried to stand, but stumbled and collapsed against his captor. His face was a picture of agony. He really does have an expressive face, Braithwaite thought clinically.  
  
Now it was Braithwaite's turn. The other man pulled him down from the bed and grabbed his elbows as on the day before. Braithwaite stumbled and almost fell, grunting. The man laughed.  
  
"Pair of girls this morning, aren't we? Not so tough now, huh?" He shoved his gun into the small of Braithwaite's back, and forced him to move.  
  
Braithwaite followed Rebecca down the corridor. Behind him he could here Wolenczak's dragging steps, punctuated with groans. Finally, the guard seemed to lose patience.  
  
"Shut up, will ya," he said angrily, and there was the sound of something hard hitting something soft, followed by a sharp cry from Wolenczak that was quickly cut off. A moment later the guard's voice came again. "Um, Dwight? I think we've got a problem."  
  
Rebecca turned sharply. Braithwaite managed to sneak a look behind him. The guard was trying to support an obviously unconscious Wolenczak. The woman sighed, exasperated.  
  
"Well, you'll just have to carry him," she snapped. "And next time, don't hit them so hard when you need them to walk."  
  
"I hardly touched him," the guard muttered, but he hoisted the young man into his arms. The procession continued their march.  
  
Finally, they entered a large room. Several computers were lined up against one wall, and a shelf full of scientific equipment stood next to them. The room was filled with work benches covered in the detritus of what looked to be hundreds of experiments. In the corner was an odd-looking white cubicle.  
  
Braithwaite stopped, shoulders sagging, and stared at Rebecca with a weary expression. The woman smiled kindly.  
  
"We know what you have stolen," she said, as if talking to a child. "We don't know where you've hidden it, but it doesn't matter. We have copies. Everyone in your confederation will get the chance to experience this technology first hand before long, but we thought you might want a sneak preview." She turned, and turned on one of the computers. She inserted an unlabelled data disk into the drive, and a string of chemical formulae appeared on the screen.  
  
"This substance is so powerful that one drop in a room this size would be enough to kill a hundred grown men," she said sweetly. "Unfortunately, the death is agonising. The flesh literally melts. It takes some time. Amazing how inventive scientists can be, don't you think?"  
  
Braithwaite just stared at her. He was getting a bad feeling about this. Rebecca nodded at the guard who was carrying Wolenczak, and he began to move towards the white cubicle in the corner of the room.  
  
"We set up this area to test it," the woman continued. "I think we can safely say it works, but there's no harm in checking again." Braithwaite concentrated on looking as tired as he could. He kept one eye on the guard at the cubicle. He had shifted so he was only holding Wolenczak with one hand, using the other to open the cubicle door.  
  
So, Braithwaite thought. This is it.  
  
And it was. 


	13. Chapter 13

seaQuest non é il mio.  
  
Beautiful midsummer evenings for all you lovely reviewers: Mar, hepatica, ano, Teresa, lizU, sara, pari106 and TeacherTam. Er, except if any of you live in the southern hemisphere, in which case, beautiful midwinter afternoons. And if you live near the equator... oh, forget it.  
  
As for everyone who thinks that my cliffhangers are evil, I've just gone through and removed all the remaining ones from the story. NOT!! Bwahahahahahahaaaaa!  
  
  
  
Ghosts  
  
Chapter 13  
  
Lucas felt that his captor had shifted so that he was only holding him with one arm. He concentrated on acting unconscious, allowing his body to hang bonelessly so that his feet dragged on the ground. One. Two. Three.  
  
"Now!" he yelled and, planting his feet firmly on the floor, he wrenched himself away from the man's grasp and grabbed the strap of the pulse rifle the man was carrying carelessly over one arm. With a quick twist, it was free, and Lucas stepped back and fired even as his adversary was still turning towards him in surprise. The man dropped to the floor like a stone. Thank God for technology, Lucas thought, then turned quickly to see how Braithwaite was doing.  
  
He needn't have worried. Braithwaite's guard was already stretched out on the floor, and the older man had his gun trained on Rebecca. She stood in the centre of the room, her back to Lucas. Braithwaite cocked an eyebrow at him coolly.  
  
"I got to hand it to you, Wolenczak, you're one hell of an actor."  
  
Lucas accepted the compliment with a nod. He was just relieved the plan had worked.  
  
"I guess I can't kill her in good conscience, huh?" Braithwaite said, gesturing at Rebecca with his rifle.  
  
Lucas shook his head. "I guess not."  
  
"Well, you'd better do the honours, then. It's your specialty, after all."  
  
Rebecca turned to look at him then, and the kind pity on her face had been replaced by snarling anger. And fear.  
  
"You'll never get out of here alive," she sneered.  
  
Lucas shook his head. "I hope you have a mother of a headache when you wake up," he said, without malice. Then he flipped up the rifle with practised ease, spun the woman round and brought it down on the back of her head.  
  
  
  
Braithwaite stared down at Rebecca's body lying on the floor, and stirred it with his toe. "I don't know how you do that move, Wolenczak," he said contemplatively. "You make it look so easy."  
  
Wolenczak shrugged. "It's a skill," he said, modestly.  
  
Braithwaite looked up. "Make sure those two are dead," he said, then turned his attention back to the inert body at his feet. He looked over at the white cubicle, and a slow smile spread across his face. "I've got just the place for you, bitch," he said with relish.  
  
  
  
"Anything?"  
  
"Sorry, sir," O'Neill said apologetically.  
  
Bridger turned to look at Ortiz. The sensor chief shook his head.  
  
"How long?" Bridger asked.  
  
"Two hours," Ortiz replied.  
  
"Captain," Ford said in a low tone, "we can't stay here for ever. We're right by the border. Eventually they're going to notice us."  
  
Bridger shook his head. "I'm not leaving him out there on his own," he said stubbornly. "He's only two hours late. We've got to give him some margin for error."  
  
"We worked margin for error into the original timetable," Ford pointed out. "How do we know he's not just-" a beeping noise cut him off. They turned. Ortiz was staring at a flashing light on his console.  
  
"I think someone just noticed us," he said.  
  
  
  
"We've got to make sure it doesn't happen again," said Lucas, inspecting the wall of the lab. "If the intruder alarm goes off, we're screwed."  
  
"So how're we going to stop it?" Braithwaite asked. Lucas didn't answer. He'd spotted some markings on the wall.  
  
"Lab 4," he muttered to himself. "Where I was before was lab 2. That must mean..." he looked up at the ceiling, calculating quickly, then walked carefully along the wall. "Here," he said, pointing at a hatch-way.  
  
Braithwaite stared at him, mystified. "What're you talking about?" he asked.  
  
Lucas looked back at him. "We've got to find my palm top," he said.  
  
  
  
"I thought you said it wasn't far," grumbled Braithwaite. He was taller than Lucas, with broader shoulders, and crawling through the ventilation shafts was not an easy job for him.  
  
"Yeah, well, in real terms it's not far, but these vents double back on each other every five minutes," Lucas admitted. With his injured shoulder, the crawling wasn't particularly easy for him either. He could feel the wound breaking open again. "All the same, we should be just round the corner... Ah!" He scrambled out of the vent into a larger tunnel. "This should make life easier."  
  
The two men walked down the tunnel, half bent over, until Lucas suddenly stopped. Braithwaite crashed into him. "Sorry," he muttered.  
  
"Should be somewhere round here," Lucas said, walking forward more slowly now, then stopping again. He knelt down suddenly and put his ear against a large panel in the wall.  
  
"What-" Braithwaite started, but Lucas held up a hand for silence. After a moment listening, he sat up.  
  
"No, he's gone," he said, sounding satisfied. "Someone must've found him."  
  
"Found who?" asked Braithwaite.  
  
"Just a loose end," Lucas said. Then he stood up, and tapped a smaller panel, set higher up in the wall. "We've got to get this off."  
  
Braithwaite stared at it for a moment. "Looks tough," he said, and raised his rifle.  
  
"No!" Lucas yelled, pushing the rifle barrel away. Braithwaite straightened up, and looked at him, eyebrows raised. Lucas straightened too. "I'm sorry, sir, but my palm top is behind there. We'll just have to get it open some other way."  
  
  
  
Fifteen minutes and a lot of brute force later, they had finally got the panel open far enough for Lucas to slip his hand inside and take out the palm top and the data disk.  
  
"What's that?" Braithwaite asked, looking suspiciously at the disk.  
  
"What do you think it is?" Lucas replied. "You came here to get the same thing, didn't you?"  
  
Braithwaite didn't answer. Lucas slipped the disk in his pocket and opened the palm top. "OK," he said, checking the map. "I reckon we need about an hour to get out of here... then I'll give them half an hour..."  
  
"Give who?" Braithwaite asked. Lucas didn't answer. "Listen, Wolenczak, are you going to let me in on your scheme or what?"  
  
For an answer, Lucas turned his palm top screen towards the other man. Large red letters spelt out WEAPONS ARMED. Below that was a line reading TIME TO DETONATION: 90:00:00. Lucas pressed a button. The numbers started going down.  
  
Braithwaite whistled. "You're going to blow this place up?"  
  
"Do you really want them to keep it?" Lucas asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
Braithwaite nodded. "Good point. What now?"  
  
Lucas quickly checked the map again, then pointed left. "This way."  
  
  
  
"It feels like we've been walking for hours," Braithwaite muttered.  
  
"We're nearly there," Lucas assured him in a low voice. He didn't want to admit that it was taking them longer than he had planned. His shoulder was beginning to hurt quite a lot now. "We've just got to get across this corridor, then – shit!" he said, looking at his palm top screen in dismay.  
  
"What is it?" Braithwaite whispered.  
  
"There are people out there," Lucas said, peering through the grating. "Guards."  
  
"How many?"  
  
Lucas checked the screen again. "Two. They'll be turning the corner in a moment."  
  
The two men stared at each other for a moment in the half-light that came through the grating. "Can you delay the detonation?" Braithwaite asked.  
  
Lucas shook his head. "Even if I could, we can't risk spending any longer than necessary here." He looked down at the screen again. "OK, they're gone. I don't know if they'll be back, though."  
  
"We'll have to risk it," Braithwaite said. "One at a time."  
  
Lucas nodded. "I'll go first." He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the pain in his shoulder, and counted to three, then opened the hatch way. Climbing out, he closed it quickly and crossed to the other side of the corridor. The hatch way there was higher up: he had to jump to reach the handle and then scramble up into the duct. It made quite a bit of noise, and he gritted his teeth as he was forced to put weight on his bad shoulder. Finally, though, he was up in the duct and pulled the hatch closed after him.  
  
He popped open the palm top again and checked the screen. Then he stopped in horror and checked again. The guards were coming back. And there was no way he could warn Braithwaite.  
  
He checked the clock quickly. Thirty-five minutes left. Almost time for the next stage. He could hear the boots of the guards coming closer, and prayed that Braithwaite heard it too. But then he saw the opposite hatch begin to open and swore under his breath.  
  
The guards saw Braithwaite before he saw them. "Hey!" shouted one of them, "drop your weapon!"  
  
Braithwaite was an experienced soldier, and he knew when to take a threat seriously. He dropped the pulse rifle. Both guards had their weapons pointed at him. "Kick it over here," said the one who had spoken before. Braithwaite obeyed. The guard picked up the rifle and looked at it. Then he gestured to Braithwaite.  
  
"Lie down with your hands on your head."  
  
It was that moment that Lucas chose to act. He typed a command into the palm top, and suddenly the noise of a siren filled the air. The two guards looked up, confused, and Lucas burst out of the hatchway, firing as he came. Both were down in seconds.  
  
"Come on," Lucas yelled to Braithwaite. "Run!"  
  
And they ran. 


	14. Chapter 14

seaQuest nis min.  
  
I raise a glass to my sweet-natured reviewers: Nina-Maree, lo, hepatica, sara, ano, TeacherTam, Teresa and Mar.  
  
Mar: lol! Your reviews always make me giggle. Do you think Ford has to ask permission to go to the bathroom?  
  
hepatica: beast? me? looks innocent. Fnar fnar!!!  
  
sara: I updated quicklier! But I have a feeling you're still not going to be happy with me... Once you loved me, now you hate me. Life is so fickle. sobs uncontrollably.

  
  
Ghosts  
  
Chapter 14  
  
"How many?" Bridger asked tensely.  
  
"One. No, two," Ortiz said, staring intently at his console. "They're firing."  
  
"Launch intercepts."  
  
"Intercepts away. Impact in three... two... one... impact. All targets destroyed."  
  
"Hail them," Bridger said. After a moment, the image of a middle-aged, distinguished-looking woman with a hard face appeared on screen. "Identify yourself," she snapped.  
  
Bridger raised his eyebrows. "This is Captain Nathan Bridger of the UEO submarine seaQuest. And you are?"  
  
"Captain Teresa Costanza, of the Pacific South-West submarine Persephone. You are violating the border area."  
  
"We're in UEO territory," Bridger countered.  
  
"You are within twenty kilometres of the border. You are violating the demilitarised zone."  
  
"So are you," Bridger observed.  
  
The woman frowned. "Captain, take your vessel out of the border zone or I will be forced to destroy her." She cut off the transmission.  
  
"Not if I can help it," Bridger muttered.  
  
"Captain," Ford said, "we should do as she says. We-"  
  
Bridger rounded on him. "A member of my crew is out there risking his neck, Commander! I'm not going to leave him out there to die!"  
  
Ford straightened up angrily. "With respect, sir, I think you're allowing your personal history to cloud your judgement in this matter."  
  
Bridger squared up to him. "Oh, you do, do you? Well I think you're letting excessive suspicion cloud your judgement."  
  
Ford glared at him. "You once told me we could do with more suspicious people on this boat."  
  
"And you told me that Wolenczak chose us," Bridger pointed out.  
  
"Um, guys?" Ortiz put in. "I hate to break up the party, but we're being fired on again."  
  
  
  
Several corridors over, the two men paused for breath, panting. The siren was still wailing.  
  
"What did you do?" Braithwaite asked, gasping for air.  
  
"I set off the fire alarm," Lucas said. "I was going to do it anyway after we'd left. To give everyone enough time to get out."  
  
Braithwaite frowned. "Isn't it going to be pretty hard to steal a sub if everyone's using them to evacuate?"  
  
Lucas shook his head, beginning to get his breath back now. "Almost all the base crew are at the other end of the base, near the main docking bay. We're heading for an emergency bay with two or three subs in it. We should be OK."  
  
Braithwaite nodded. "I guess I'll just have to believe you're right."  
  
"Let's get moving," Lucas said, but Braithwaite put a hand on his arm. Lucas looked at him in surprise; the older man's face was suddenly very serious.  
  
"I didn't mean for that kid to die, you know."  
  
Lucas suddenly felt like all the air had been removed from his lungs. He leaned weakly against the wall. "I know."  
  
Braithwaite watched him closely. "Did you know him?"  
  
For a moment, Lucas couldn't speak. Then he nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I knew him."  
  
But there was no time for contemplation. They had to move.  
  
  
  
They reached the docking bay with ten minutes to spare.  
  
"OK, there should be one sub here and one sub over there," Wolenczak said, gesturing at the two hatches on the wall.  
  
Braithwaite nodded. "Well, I guess I'll see you around, Commander."  
  
He turned to go, but stopped in surprise when the younger man spoke. "Wait a minute, Captain." He turned back to see his former XO pointing a pulse rifle at him, and it was only then that he realised that he had left his own weapon back in the corridor with the two downed guards.  
  
Well, I guess the tables are turned now, he thought grimly. Wolenczak held out his hand.  
  
"Give me the disk."  
  
"What disk?" Braithwaite asked innocently.  
  
Wolenczak raised an eyebrow. "The disk you palmed back in the lab. The copy. Give it to me."  
  
Slowly, Braithwaite shook his head. "You know I can't do that."  
  
For a moment, the younger man regarded him calmly. "You're never going to win you know," he said, sounding almost sad. "That disk doesn't mean victory for the Free Nations. It just means death for a lot of other people."  
  
Braithwaite hesitated. Then he sighed. "I know," he said, feeling suddenly ten years older. "But I have to try." He dug the disk out of his pocket and handed it over. Then he braced himself. No matter how many times he had faced it down, he still found himself ill-prepared for death.  
  
"Well, I guess now it's my turn to understand," he said calmly. "You'll forgive me if I turn my back."  
  
Confusion flickered briefly on the young commander's face, then he shook his head. "You really don't get it, do you Captain," he said. "I told you: I'm not doing this for them. I'm doing it for us." He lifted the barrel of the gun so that it was no longer pointing at Braithwaite. "You'd better get moving," he observed.  
  
For a moment, Braithwaite just stared at him. Then he nodded, and turned to go.  
  
  
  
Lucas slid into the cockpit and checked over the controls. It looked pretty straight-forward. The sub wasn't as streamlined or as fast as his little fighter, but there was no way he could get back to that now, even if it was still where he had left it. He popped the docking seal and started off, quickly checking the countdown on the palm top. Five minutes. A flickering light on the instrument panel caught his attention: another, smaller sub, peeling off in the other direction. Well, at least Braithwaite got out OK.  
  
He aimed for a gap in the mountains, hoping to get through before the blast. That way he would be mostly protected from it. He checked the countdown again. Three minutes. Damn it, he thought, angrily. Should have given it more time. The gap in the mountains was too far away. He was at full thrust. Go faster! he commanded the bulky sub mentally, but it didn't help. One minute left. Frantically, he swept for other cover, but there was none. Thirty seconds. He fumbled with the seat belt, but his hands were slick with sweat.  
  
Then there was a deafening roar, loud enough to be heard even through the thick walls of the sub. A moment later the shockwave hit. The sub bucked violently and Lucas found himself being flung forwards, wrenching his bad arm. His head connected with something, and there was a blinding pain. I guess I overdid the nitro, he thought vaguely, and lost consciousness.


	15. Chapter 15

seaQuest non meus est.  
  
Throw another shrimp on the barbie for: Crimson Amber, Teresa, pari106 (x2!) Mar, sara, hepatica, ano, TeacherTam and KatKnits00.  
  
Teresa: lol! What a weird coincidence... I'd like to say that the next chapter has a Jane James in it, but alas it is not so...  
  
KatKnits00: Is my inner ELF showing? giggles  
  
As for the rest – what, me, cliffhanger? Surely not...  
  
  
  
Ghosts  
  
Chapter 15  
  
Lucas opened his eyes.  
  
He was lying on his back staring up at the sky. It was the pale blue of evening, and seemed to stretch into infinity. A half-moon hung there, shining with a faint light. A few faint wisps of cloud were turning grey.  
  
He could feel sand under his hands and the ocean murmuring nearby. Everything seemed sharper, more defined, the colours brighter than usual. He sat up and looked around. A little way up the beach was a shack that he recognised: Bridger's island. He knew he must be dreaming. But he had a very odd feeling that it was not his dream.  
  
There was a figure crouching beside him. Lucas could have sworn that he wasn't there a moment ago. He turned; his reflexes were slow. Somehow he was not surprised to see Robert smiling at him.  
  
"Hello Lucas," the young man said.  
  
"Hello Robert," Lucas replied dreamily.  
  
"Things haven't been going too well for you lately, huh?" Robert said sympathetically.  
  
Lucas didn't answer. He was watching the waves sliding in and out. He was struck suddenly with the realisation that the motion would never stop. In. Out. In. Out. Forever. Robert sat down next to him on the sand.  
  
"It's good to see you," he said gently. "It's too bad you won't be able to stay."  
  
Lucas looked at him, confused. "What do you mean?" Suddenly all he wanted to do was stay there, on that beach. He couldn't remember why he didn't want to go back, but he knew he didn't.  
  
Robert smiled sadly. "You've got to go back, Lucas. You've got to help my dad. He needs you."  
  
Lucas shook his head. "I want to stay here, with you."  
  
Robert's smile faded; now he just looked sad. He reached out a hand and pushed Lucas gently on the chest. The whole world started to slide forward, or perhaps Lucas was sliding backward out of it. Robert was moving away, but he wasn't moving. Lucas was moving.  
  
"I want to stay," Lucas whispered.  
  
Then he was falling into darkness, and the beach, the sea, Robert, they became smaller and smaller until they were no larger than a vid-screen picture, and then just a bright point in the darkness.  
  
And then they were gone.  
  
  
  
"Any luck?" Bridger asked.  
  
O'Neill shook his head. "I've tried rerouting through three satellites already. Nothing's getting through. We don't have enough power."  
  
Bridger nodded and looked at Hitchcock. She looked up from where she was lying under her console. "I'm still trying to bring in more power from the back-up systems. They might be too badly fried."  
  
Bridger put his hand on O'Neill's shoulder. "Keep trying," he said calmly. He turned and walked to Ortiz's station. "There's no way we can break through?"  
  
"No, sir," Ortiz said, looking up. His face was tense. "They've got us surrounded."  
  
"Current status?"  
  
"Alert but inactive. Captain," Ortiz looked worried, "I think they're waiting for reinforcements."  
  
Bridger shook his head. "Why aren't they attacking now?" he muttered.  
  
Ford had the answer. "They don't want to damage the seaQuest. They want to take her intact."  
  
Bridger straightened up. "I'll scuttle her myself before I see that happen."  
  
The two men shared a glance. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Ford said quietly.  
  
  
  
Lucas was awake, really awake. He could tell because of the sharp pain in his head. Grimacing, he opened his eyes – or at least one of them. The other seemed to be stuck together. He sat up slowly, and tried to lift his hand to touch his eye. A searing pain shot through his shoulder. Great idea, Wolenczak. He reached up with his other hand and rubbed at his eye – he managed to get it open, but his hand came away red. He looked at it for a moment, then reached up to his forehead. It felt like he had a pretty nasty gash. There was blood on the console too. In fact, looking around, it seemed like he'd bled a lot. No wonder he was feeling light-headed.  
  
He checked the instrument panel for his position, then did a double-take. "This can't be right," he muttered. According to the computer, he was only a few kilometres from the border. But when he'd lost consciousness he'd been only a few minutes from the base. He frowned, then stopped quickly as the pain behind his eyes intensified. "How is this possible?"  
  
He checked the chronometer: he had been out for about three hours. That was certainly enough time for a sub of this spec to get that far at full tilt, but with no-one driving it? He checked the history. And stared. The sub had been going in a straight line in the direction it had been pointed when the impact hit. The angle had been slightly off – he was around forty kilometres from seaQuest's position – but that was a damn sight better that 500. He turned the ship quickly, hardly able to believe his good luck. At least there weren't any mountains in the way, he thought. Or PSW patrols.  
  
He felt something hard digging into his leg, and felt in his pocket. The data disk. Swiping the sweat from his forehead, he pulled it out, along with Braithwaite's copy, and stared at them. They looked so innocent, flat plastic cuboids in the palm of his hand, yet each one contained information that could mean death for millions. Did you know what this technology was? he wondered, thinking of Bridger. He wanted to believe the man didn't, but there was no way he could know for sure. The ugly spectacle of three confederations fighting over the means to send their enemies to an agonising death made him feel sick. Or maybe that was the head wound. He was finding it hard to think clearly. Then his own voice came back at him. I'm fighting for all of us who are stuck in this shitty war because of someone else's ambition. Is that really true Wolenczak? Is that why you're doing it? Or are you just afraid to try and find some other way to live?  
  
A wave of tiredness washed over him, and he remembered the beach, and Robert, and almost wept. Then he set his teeth. Time to see it through. He dropped both disks on the floor and stamped on them again and again, grinding them into fragments with the heel of his boot. Then he sat back, exhausted, and waited as the sub headed towards the last place he had seen seaQuest.  
  
  
  
"I just can't do it!" O'Neill sat back in frustration, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes. "They're still blocking all communications. There's no way we can call for help." He felt helpless and frustrated. There were five PSW ships now, and he was sure there were more on the way. And everything rested on communications. If they could only let other UEO ships in the area know they were there... And yet, there it was. There just wasn't enough power to reroute them.  
  
Ortiz looked up. "Captain, there's a PSW shuttle approaching."  
  
Bridger frowned. "Armed?"  
  
Ortiz shook his head. "If they are, they're not aiming at us." Then he frowned too, listening to something. "They're sending off some kind of weird sonar signal, sir."  
  
O'Neill flipped his headset to the sonar channel and listened. For a moment he was perplexed, then he realised. "It's Morse code," he said, flipping a switch so that the sonar beeps could be heard on the bridge. "Someone's using the sonar to send us a message."  
  
Bridger looked up, listening. "L... U... C... A... S." He turned quickly to Hitchcock. "Open the docking bay!"  
  
  
  
Krieg was on his way past docking bay for on an errand for Westphalen when the doors cycled open and Lucas fell out.  
  
"Woah, watch it there buddy!" Krieg said, catching his friend before he hit the ground. "I didn't know you were back." He hauled Lucas to his feet, then stopped. The boy's face was bruised, and one side was streaked with dried blood. "Hey, man, what happened?" he asked gently.  
  
"No time," Lucas said, leaning heavily on Krieg. "I've got to get to the bridge."  
  
Krieg had a strange feeling of déjà vu. "The only place you're going is med- bay," he said firmly.  
  
Lucas shook his head. "No, I've got to get to the bridge." His voice was unsteady. "I've got to help Bridger. Will you help me, Ben? Please?"  
  
Krieg stared into his determined eyes for a moment, then sighed. "Westphalen's gonna kill me for this," he muttered.  
  
  
  
"Captain, two more subs are approaching," Ortiz said grimly.  
  
"How far?" Bridger asked.  
  
"They'll be here in an hour," Ortiz replied. Bridger exchanged glances with Ford, and checked to make sure he still had the key to the boat's self- destruct mechanism around his neck. Time to pray for a miracle, he thought.  
  
"Hey, can somebody help me here?" came a voice from the other side of the bridge. Bridger turned in surprise. Lieutenant Krieg was standing there, supporting a very much the worse for wear-looking Lucas.  
  
"Lucas!" Bridger said in surprise. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"Why aren't you calling for reinforcements?" Lucas asked.  
  
Bridger shook his head. "They're blocking our communications. There's not enough power to get them out."  
  
Lucas seemed to be visibly regaining control. He stood up straighter. "Let me try," he said firmly. Bridger looked back to see O'Neill and Ford exchanging a glance.  
  
"Sure, why not?" O'Neill said, shrugging. He stood up.  
  
Lucas crossed the room without support – although a little unsteadily – and sat down in O'Neill's chair. He started typing immediately, muttering to himself.  
  
Hitchcock crossed the room to stand by Krieg. "What's going on?" she asked.  
  
Krieg shrugged. "Beats me," he said. "Kid says jump, I say how high. I just can't resist that cheeky sense of humour."  
  
Hitchcock snorted. "This is a serious situation, Krieg," she said.  
  
Krieg turned to her and raised and eyebrow. "When have you ever known me not to be serious, Commander?"  
  
At the console, Lucas was working feverishly. The fingers on his left hand were sluggish, presumably because of the shoulder wound. Lucas forced them to work anyway. Impatiently, he brushed the sweat out of his eyes and fought down a wave of dizziness. Concentrate, Wolenczak, he thought fiercely. This is no time to wimp out. Let's try taking power from the WSKRs' grid.  
  
Behind him, he was vaguely aware of Bridger's voice saying something, but he didn't stop to listen. Right now, he could only concentrate on one thing at a time.  
  
Bridger had crossed to stand behind O'Neill. "How's it going?" he asked, trying not to sound as tense as he felt. Lucas didn't answer, didn't even seem to hear. O'Neill looked at him and shrugged.  
  
"I have no idea what he's doing," he admitted.  
  
"Um, sir?" Ortiz looked up. "The subs are preparing to fire."  
  
"How many?"  
  
"Fifteen torpedoes, sir."  
  
"How many intercepts do we have left?"  
  
Ortiz checked his console. "Ten."  
  
Bridger sighed. "We'll have to use our torpedoes to intercept theirs. Mr. Ortiz, assuming they continue firing, how long can we hold them off for?"  
  
Ortiz shook his head. "A couple hours maybe, but once their reinforcements arrive we'll be screwed. Firing intercepts and torpedoes one through five," he added, almost as an afterthought.  
  
There was a moment of tense anticipation. Then two things happened at once. Ortiz said: "All targets destroyed." And Lucas sat back in his chair and said: "Got it!"  
  
O'Neill was typing in an instant. "Communications working sir," he said. "Hailing all UEO subs in the area." Lucas struggled out of the chair and let O'Neill take over. "Sending distress call..." He paused, listening. "Five subs responding, sir," he said, looking up, his face suffused with relief.  
  
Bridger's shoulders sagged. "Ortiz?"  
  
"The PSW subs are standing down sir," Ortiz said with a wide grin. "They must have heard us."  
  
Bridger smiled, and turned to Lucas. "Well done, Mr. Wolenczak. I think you just saved all our lives."  
  
Lucas nodded. "Thank you, sir," he said calmly, and passed out. 


	16. Chapter 16

seaQuest nyet moi.  
  
Big respec' to: KatKnits00 (x2), PhoenixTears80, Mar, hepatica, ano, TeacherTam, pari106, Ahn-Li Steffraini, kas7 and Teresa.  
  
TeacherTam: In case you haven't spotted KatKnits' explanation on the review page, ELF = Evil Lucas Fan. You were pretty much spot on in your guess about what that means : )...  
  
  
  
Ghosts  
  
Chapter 16  
  
Westphalen turned and glared at Bridger. "What the hell was he doing on the bridge?"  
  
Bridger exchanged uneasy glances with Krieg. He felt as if he was back in school.  
  
"Well, uh," Krieg started nervously. Instantly Westphalen's flashing eyes were turned on him. He flinched.  
  
"Was I addressing you, Lieutenant?"  
  
"No, ma'am," Krieg said, sweat breaking out on his forehead, "but, it is kinda my fault..." He swallowed hard as the doctor's glare intensified. "I told him he had to go to med-bay! But he wouldn't listen!"  
  
"And you think a sixteen-year-old child with severe concussion is capable of making that kind of decision for himself, do you?" Westphalen asked, coldly. Krieg looked shame-faced.  
  
"Is he going to be OK?" he asked.  
  
For a moment, the diminutive woman just stared at both of them. Then she looked away with an angry sigh. "No thanks to either of you," she said. "He's lost a lot of blood, and his shoulder and head are in pretty bad shape. But he'll be fine after a lot of rest." She turned back, raising an eyebrow at Bridger. "I trust you'll see that he gets it?" she said, menacingly. "Not planning to drag him off on any more adventures, are we?"  
  
Bridger felt he had to defend himself. "Doctor, Mr. Wolenczak is a member of this crew. He volunteered for everything he did and..." he trailed off. Westphalen had thrown up her hands in disgust and gone back into the med- bay.  
  
The two men stared after her retreating form. "Well," said Krieg after a moment, "that went better than I expected."  
  
  
  
It was the sound of the surf that woke Lucas. He sat up slowly, brushing the sand out of his hair. The swell was stronger now, but the motion of the waves was still the same. In and out. In and out. Watching them gave him a strange feeling of peace.  
  
After a while, he became aware that Robert was sitting next to him.  
  
"I wondered when you would turn up," he said.  
  
"What are you doing here, Lucas?" Robert asked without looking at him.  
  
Lucas frowned. "I'm supposed to be here." He felt somehow that that was true, though his memory of what had happened before he came here was vague and blurred.  
  
"No. I told you to go back, to help my dad."  
  
Lucas was confused now. "I did help him. I saved the ship." He couldn't remember the details, but he was sure that he had saved the ship.  
  
Robert glanced at him. "That's not what I meant."  
  
Lucas didn't know what to say. He didn't understand. For a while, he watched the waves, but his previous peaceful feeling had given way to a nagging unease. Eventually, he asked the question that he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to.  
  
"Are you going to send me back?"  
  
Robert sighed. "No. This time you have to choose to go back yourself."  
  
"What if I don't want to?"  
  
Robert looked at him now, and his eyes were sad. "I would go back if I could. But I can't, so you have to go for me. My dad needs you."  
  
Lucas shook his head. "For what?"  
  
Robert watched him sadly for a while, then got up and began to walk away. Lucas wanted to say something to make him stay, but the words wouldn't come. A few metres down the beach, he disappeared.  
  
Lucas turned to watch the sea once more.  
  
  
  
"Captain?"  
  
Bridger frowned, his thoughts interrupted. That was really no bad thing though: lately the last thing he wanted was to be alone with his thoughts. He turned; Hitchcock and Crocker were standing behind him.  
  
"We searched the shuttle like you said, Cap," Crocker said.  
  
"Did you find the disk?"  
  
Crocker and Hitchcock exchanged glances. "Well... Sort of..." the security chief answered, and held out his hand. In his palm lay a small pile of plastic fragments. Bridger stared at them.  
  
"That's it?"  
  
Hitchcock nodded. "It looks like the remains of two disks, sir," she said. "We found them on the floor of the cockpit."  
  
Bridger looked up at her. "Can they be reconstructed?"  
  
She looked worried. "It's possible. I can probably get some of the corrupted data off them, but we'd need someone pretty damn skilled to get it all intact. We'd need Lucas, sir."  
  
Bridger looked at Crocker. His old friend shrugged. "I'm no expert, sir, but it seems like that boy ain't too keen for us to see what's on those disks."  
  
  
  
Westphalen shook her head, looking worried. "I don't understand it," she said. "His concussion was severe, but not enough to cause this."  
  
"What are you telling me, Doctor?" Bridger asked carefully.  
  
The woman cast a glance at her unconscious patient, lying on the bed just behind her. "Somehow..." she started and then paused, seeming to gather her strength. "He's slipped into a coma."  
  
Bridger's heart sank. "What are your predictions?"  
  
Westphalen shook her head again. "My prediction was that he'd be awake by now. Now... I have no idea."  
  
Bridger looked at the sleeping man for a moment. His face seemed very peaceful. "Is he going to die?" he asked, quietly.  
  
Westphalen sighed, and sank down into a chair next to the bed. "I don't know," she admitted.  
  
Bridger sat down in the chair next to hers and covered his face with his hands. Not again, he thought. "Did I do the right thing?" he asked, almost inaudibly, as if he was speaking to himself.  
  
Westphalen frowned. "You know how I feel about all of this, especially involving children in the military." But then her face softened. "But... you did your job, and Lucas did his. I can respect that, even if I don't agree with it."  
  
Bridger leaned his head back, feeling exhausted. He felt a wave of self- doubt. He thought about those fragments of disk, and the nagging doubt in the back of his mind that maybe Ford had been right after all.  
  
"I used to be so sure about everything," he said. "Now... it feels like all I do is make the wrong decisions. How can I captain this boat when I can't even trust my own judgement?"  
  
For a long moment, Westphalen just stared at her sleeping patient, as if she hadn't heard. Then she turned to face him, and her eyes were filled with pity. "The man who ran this boat for the first two months of the tour was not a good captain. Maybe he got results, but he wasn't a good captain."  
  
"And now?" Bridger asked, afraid to hear the answer.  
  
"You'll do fine," Westphalen said quietly.  
  
  
  
Lucas had lost track of time. Or maybe the real problem was that time didn't really seem to matter here. The wave coming in could have been the fortieth or the four thousandth. It made no difference: there would always be more waves.  
  
For some time he had been trying to piece together the details of how he had come to be in this place, but the information kept slipping away from him. To be honest, he couldn't really bring himself to care: all his emotions seemed somehow flattened. But he kept trying, perhaps out of habit.  
  
He became aware that Robert was standing behind him. "You've come back," he said, without looking round.  
  
The other man came and sat down beside him. "You won't get to stay here, you know," he said, as if continuing a previous conversation. "This is just a half-way house."  
  
"I don't want to leave," Lucas said.  
  
"But you will have to. You will either go forward, or back. You can't stay here."  
  
Lucas digested this, watching the waves. The liquid sunlight danced on the water.  
  
"And if I go on, I won't be able to come back," he said. It was not a question.  
  
Robert nodded. "That's right." He squinted into the sun. "You have to choose soon."  
  
"How soon?" Lucas asked, feeling a faint twinge of curiosity.  
  
Robert shrugged. "The longer you stay here, the harder the decision will be. Your feelings will become... weaker."  
  
Lucas looked at him. "That's not an answer."  
  
Robert gave him a sad smile and stood up. "No," he admitted, and turned to go.  
  
"Wait," Lucas said, "are you coming back?"  
  
Robert looked back over his shoulder. "Maybe," he said, and faded away.  
  
The waves continued their solemn, steady progress: always in motion, never going anywhere. Lucas saw that there were two doors on the beach: unmarked doors, like one might find in an office. He knew that he would normally be surprised by the incongruity, but he felt nothing. He stood up, and took a step towards the left-hand door. He felt a wave of peace and emptiness wash over him. He heard his mother singing. He looked around quickly, but the beach was empty. Yet still the voice sang, a song of cool forgetfulness and sleep.  
  
Turning, he took a step towards the other door. A wave of fierce emotion assailed him with such force that he stumbled: anger and happiness and love and fear all rolled into one. He stood for a long moment between the two doors, feeling their conflicting influences warring within him. But his mother was still singing.  
  
Lucas made a decision. He stepped towards the left-hand door and reached for the handle.  
  
  
  
Krieg was off duty, and thought he would drop in to see how Lucas was doing. The thought of Dr. Westphalen still made him nervous, but the kid was probably awake by now, and Krieg didn't doubt he could do with a friend. When he came close to med-bay, however, he heard a commotion. He quickened his step, but stopped in confusion when he arrived at the door. Westphalen and three orderlies were crowded round the bed, and the doctor was holding the paddles of what Krieg recognised as a defibrillator. As he watched, she yelled, "Clear!" and pressed the paddles onto Lucas' chest. The boy's body convulsed, and an orderly checked the screen of the heart monitor that stood by the bed.  
  
"No change," she reported, and Westphalen shook her head.  
  
"Come on Lucas," she muttered, charging the paddles again.  
  
Krieg knew he ought to stay out of the way, but he couldn't just stand by. "What's happening, doctor?" he asked, stepping closer to the bed.  
  
Westphalen didn't seem to have heard him. "Clear!" she shouted again, and performed the same move as before. Krieg put a hand on her arm.  
  
"What's happening?" he asked, insistently.  
  
"No change," said the orderly. Westphalen turned to Krieg, her face angry and tired.  
  
"He's dying," she said. 


	17. Chapter 17

seaQuest bu shi wo di.  
  
Toast and tea and a warm, dry place to read a book for these beautiful people: Mar, lo, sara, Crimson Amber, PhoenixTears80, hepatica, pari106, Teresa, TeacherTam and KatKnits00.  
  
PhoenixTears80: No, I haven't read the Dark Tower. But you know what they say about great minds ; ).  
  
And now, the answer to the question you've all been dying to know: will you all hate me by the end of this chapter? Read on to find out...  
  
  
  
Ghosts  
  
Chapter 17  
  
Lucas felt the stillness flow from the door handle through his arm and into his body. The crashing of the waves and the sigh of the wind faded away, and there was nothing but the stillness and the soft singing that he heard with his mind, not his ears. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to sink into the feeling.  
  
Then he frowned. There was something else, voices, tinny like a radio heard from another room. He tried to hear what they were saying, but they slipped away, muffled by the silence inside him and drowned out by the song of sleep. His frown deepened, and he let go of the door handle, stepping back.  
  
Robert was beside him. Lucas knew he was there before he even opened his eyes. "What do you want me to do?" he asked, and it was an act of will to form the words, as if they didn't want to break the stillness. The rushing of the waves grew louder once more.  
  
Robert watched, his face inscrutable. "It's not about what I want."  
  
"Then why are you here?" Lucas asked, feeling dull resentment.  
  
Robert looked away. "Because I wish it was my choice."  
  
Lucas looked at the door in front of him. Peace was still washing over him in waves. "You would choose to go back."  
  
Robert nodded. "In a second."  
  
"Why?"  
  
For a long moment, the other man did not answer. Then he raised his head and looked Lucas straight in the eye. "Because there are lots of things I left undone. Because I want to tell my father how much I love him. Because I want to love him."  
  
"What do you mean?" Lucas asked uneasily.  
  
"You must have worked it out by now," Robert said, gesturing at the door. "That doesn't bring happiness. It just brings... nothing. You won't find what you're looking for in there. You'll just be dead."  
  
Lucas considered this, staring at the door. Somewhere, underneath the stillness that still filled his body, he felt a tiny spark. He took another step away from the door. The spark grew into a flame, and seemed to burn the stillness up, growing greater by the second. It was exhilarating. And terrifying. But suddenly he wanted to live. For better or worse.  
  
He turned quickly and stepped towards the right-hand door, reaching out to open it. He felt a bewildering, intoxicating rush of emotions that only seemed to add fuel to the fire. As he stepped through he heard Robert's voice, very faintly.  
  
"Help my dad. He needs you."  
  
And then the door closed behind him.  
  
  
  
Westphalen wiped the sweat off her forehead with her sleeve, feeling exhausted. "Charging," she said, for what seemed like the hundredth time. "Clear!"  
  
But even as she placed the paddles on Lucas' chest, she gave a little scream as his eyes opened.  
  
  
  
Once the commotion had died down, the tests had been run and the orderlies had dispersed to other tasks, Krieg came forward from where he had been lurking by the door and stood by Lucas' bed.  
  
"Hey buddy," he said, smiling crookedly. "You gave us all a bit of a scare there."  
  
His young friend looked up at him with exhausted eyes. "I told you Ben, I can look after myself."  
  
Krieg snorted. "Yeah, it sure looks that way," he said sarcastically. "You go off to carry out a simple mission and you come back shot full of holes, and Westphalen has to use a couple of torpedoes' worth of power supply to stop you shuffling off this mortal coil. Remind me never to send you to do my laundry."  
  
"You forgot to mention that I lost a million dollar sub," Lucas noted clinically.  
  
Krieg grinned. "Yeah, I bet you're flavour of the month with Captain Bridger. If I were you I'd prepare to move my stuff into the brig."  
  
"Fine by me," Lucas said, his voice slurring, "I kinda liked it there." His eyes were closed almost before the words were out of his mouth.  
  
Krieg watched him sleep for a while. "Yeah, kid," he said sadly. "I know you did." He resolved to talk to O'Neill the first chance he got.  
  
  
  
When Lucas woke again, Bridger was standing by the bed. He smiled. "Hey, Lucas. How're you feeling?"  
  
Lucas struggled into a sitting position and considered the question. "Like I went to a really good party last night," he said finally. "Shame I can't remember it."  
  
The captain's smile widened. Humour! he thought with surprise. There's something I didn't expect. "I'm glad to see you're OK." Then his smile faded slightly. "Did you manage to get the data disk?"  
  
He watched Lucas' face carefully for any sign of a guilty conscience, but the boy was impassive as always. "I'm sorry, Captain, it was destroyed in the explosion."  
  
Bridger frowned and dug in his pocket for the fragments of disk. He showed them to Lucas. "What does this look like to you?"  
  
Lucas looked at the fragments, and still his expression did not change. He looked up at the captain again, unflinching. "The remains of a data disk," he said matter-of-factly.  
  
"That's right," Bridger said, feeling slightly irritated. "They were found in your shuttle. Pretty big coincidence, don't you think?"  
  
Lucas regarded him coolly. "What am I being accused of, Captain?"  
  
Bridger sighed and sat down in the chair by Lucas' bed, rubbing his hand over the lower part of his face. "Let's not play games here, Lucas," he said, feeling very tired. "You were given an order to bring that disk back here. Now it seems you deliberately disobeyed that order. Given your... chequered history, you can hardly blame me for having doubts."  
  
"If you didn't trust me," Lucas said quietly, "why did you send me on the mission?" If his face had been cold before, now it was positively icy. Bridger was reminded of the young man who had sat in the interrogation room eight months before, and knew he was losing the battle. He felt anger rise within him.  
  
"I did trust you. But you betrayed that trust. You disobeyed an order, and you of all people, a soldier, should know what that means." He tried to control his voice, but could hear it rising all the same. "I cannot have a maverick on board this boat, Lucas."  
  
"So you want me to leave?" Lucas asked, his eyes burning.  
  
"No, goddamnit! I want you to obey orders!"  
  
Lucas shook his head. "You didn't give me a rank so that if it turned out you were wrong about me you could wash your hands. But you expect me to act as if I am a full member of this crew nonetheless. You can't have it both ways."  
  
"Do you need reminding that I stuck my neck out for you?" Bridger was animated now. "I went against the advice of my crew to give you what you wanted. Is this how you repay me?" He flung the fragments of disk onto the bed.  
  
Lucas sat stiffly, his eyes never leaving Bridger's. "I did destroy the disk. And I am loyal to you. It's a shame you don't feel the same way about me."  
  
"What on earth is going on here?!" The two men had been so engrossed in their discussion that they hadn't noticed Westphalen enter the room. Now she stood, hands on hips, eyes snapping with rage. "Captain, I'll thank you not to disturb my patients."  
  
Bridger held Lucas' gaze for a long moment, his jaw tightly clenched. Then he turned. "We're done here anyway," he shot over his shoulder, and stalked out of the room.  
  
Lucas watched him go, his face expressionless. Only his eyes betrayed his emotion. 


	18. Chapter 18

I've run out of linguistically talented friends, so I'll just say seaQuest is not mine and I'm not making any money from this story (though wouldn't it be cool if we did make money from this stuff?)  
  
Spectacular sunsets for: Mar, hepatica, TeacherTam, Teresa, KatKnits00, pari106, Crimson Amber, sara and lo. Also partaking of the cauldron of gratitude are Unique and Andelia, for reviewing Pro Patria Mori.  
  
Mar: lol! I don't think we ever used the line "I'm a psycho" when we were playing that game. And I'm not sure, but I think Lucas might have to get his parents'/guardian's consent before tying the knot with Bridger...  
  
Teresa: I'm glad you're still enjoying it ; ). Not too long to go now...  
  
lo: no, no courses, just me and my pen and paper (well, laptop to be more accurate). But I was very flattered by your comment! It kept me smiling all day : ).  
  
Unique: thanks for making the effort to write such a long and detailed review. It gave me a lot to think about. I'll have to get back to you on that one...  
  
Andelia: Sorry for not thanking you earlier for reviewing PPM – I read your review when I was, ahem, shall we say a little the worse for wear after a night in the pub, and I only remembered it today! Which is rather embarrassing. But thank you so much for your comments! And please write more of Lost and Found soon, I love it : ).  
  
By the way everyone, I realised that probably some people didn't get the reference I was making with the title of Pro Patria Mori (my fault for being pretentious), so I added the poem that it comes from to the end of chapter 18. I recommend dropping by and reading it, it's a fantastic poem (and I hope I don't get into any copyright troubles over it...).  
  
Anyway, enough waffling from me, on with the story...  
  
  
  
Ghosts  
  
Chapter 18  
  
His quarters were empty. Seriously empty. Here and there there were a few signs of one of the inhabitants, neatly stacked books on the bookshelf, a framed print of some painting. But of himself, there was nothing.  
  
Lucas sighed and opened the cupboard, wondering if O'Neill had thrown his stuff out in the hope that he wouldn't be coming back. No, what little of it there was was still there. Some home, he thought to himself, sitting down heavily on the bed.  
  
Westphalen had not been happy with him leaving med-bay so soon, but he had insisted and she had finally caved in, making him promise to wear a sling. He wasn't sure why he'd wanted to leave, but something about the place made him feel exposed. Vulnerable. Which he was.  
  
I'm sorry Robert, he thought looking up at the ceiling as if somehow he could penetrate the metal and the water and see his dead friend's face peering down at him from the sky. I'm not sure exactly what it was you wanted me to help your father with, but I'm not doing a very good job. I'll probably get my marching orders any time now. He wasn't superstitious as a rule, believing only in cold, hard science, but something about the vivid dream he had had while he was unconscious had got to him.  
  
A noise from behind him caught his attention. He turned quickly, to see Darwin in the swim tube, banging his beak gently against the side. He reached over and laid his hand on the glass.  
  
"Hey, buddy," he said. "At least you're still on my side. Guess I'm the only person round here who fits in even less well than you."  
  
  
  
"What is it?" Bridger asked, staring at the string of letters and numbers on the screen.  
  
"Best guess, some kind of formula," Hitchcock answered. "It's very garbled, and large parts are missing, but I'm afraid this is the best that I can do. The data is too corrupted."  
  
"What kind of formula?" Bridger asked, frowning. Hitchcock shook her head.  
  
"I'm sorry, sir, it's not my area of expertise. You could ask Dr. Westphalen."  
  
Bridger nodded. "I might just do that."  
  
  
  
O'Neill took a deep breath as he prepared to enter the room. He had tried very hard not to hope that Lucas wouldn't come back from the mission, knowing that such a hope put his soul in danger. And when Lucas had come back, he had smothered the tiny flame of disappointment within him. He was determined to be a better person. And this was the first step along the way: to take the hand that had been stretched out to him before he left.  
  
You are not going to run my life, he said to the spectre of fear that had lived within him since the Aleutian engagement, and mentally shoved it as hard as he could, pressing it into a corner. Then he entered the room.  
  
But the bed was empty. He stared in confusion, then looked up as he heard Westphalen's crisp voice: "Can I help you, Lieutenant?"  
  
O'Neill swallowed. "Um, yes, actually, I'm here to see Lucas."  
  
Westphalen's friendly smile faded slightly. "I see. Well, he checked himself out this morning."  
  
"Oh." O'Neill felt somewhat deflated. All his determination seemed to leak out of him. "Is he OK?"  
  
Westphalen frowned. "Well, he's as hard-headed as a rhino, and really could do with learning some manners." Her face softened. "But yes, he's fine."  
  
O'Neill nodded, and turned to go, but turned back when Westphalen spoke again.  
  
"If you do speak to him," she said, "tell him that if he's not back here for a check-up by the end of the day I'll have him back in that bed before you can say 'tranquilizer'. And this time," she added, smiling sweetly, "I'll tie him down."  
  
O'Neill grinned nervously, feeling torn between amusement and terror. As he left, he passed Captain Bridger coming in.  
  
  
  
Westphalen shook her head. "Well, it's some kind of instruction manual for constructing a chemical compound, but," she leaned closer to the screen, "some of these elements are highly toxic. This one for example," she pointed to a section of the code, "this has about the same effect as quicklime on the human body." She sat back. "Without all the data it's hard to tell, but it looks like some kind of chemical weapon. Where did this come from?"  
  
Bridger stared at the code. "The UEO," he said, quietly.  
  
  
  
When Lucas saw that Krieg was sitting with O'Neill and Ortiz, he almost turned and walked straight back out of the mess hall. But Krieg had seen him and was waving frantically. With a sigh, he made his way to their table. He saw Ortiz nudge O'Neill and Krieg give them both warning looks. Welcome to hell, he thought.  
  
Krieg chattered away as always, and Ortiz put in a pertinent comment here and there. Lucas tried to join in with the conversation, but he was distracted. He was aware the O'Neill was silent, staring at the table. He ate as fast as he could, wanting to get away. He knew that was just a short- term solution, but he had tried to patch it up with the guy before, and didn't feel he had the emotional energy to try again. It's his turn now, he thought, then snorted inwardly. Fat chance.  
  
As he stood up to go, someone said: "Lucas?" He turned. It was O'Neill. He looked pale, but his face was determined.  
  
"I hear you're doing pretty well with the dolphin communication programme," O'Neill said. The two other men stared at him in astonishment.  
  
For a moment, Lucas was speechless. Then he closed his mouth. "Uh, yeah," he said, clearing his throat. "I've just got to programme the language base."  
  
O'Neill nodded. "Well, I'm pretty good with languages," he said. "Maybe I could give you a hand sometime."  
  
For a moment, Lucas just stared at him. Then he recovered his wits. "Yeah," he said, and his voice squeaked slightly in surprise. "Yeah, that'd be cool."  
  
O'Neill smiled unsteadily. "Well, see you around, Lucas," he said.  
  
"Yeah, see you around," Lucas said, and the ghost of a smile grazed the corners of his lips.  
  
  
  
Lucas was sitting on the floor with his back against the moon pool rampart, fiddling one-handedly with the vocorder when Bridger found him. Darwin was not in evidence. The young man looked up when he heard Bridger approaching, and his features hardened into the now-familiar mask.  
  
Bridger sat down heavily next to him. "Hey Lucas."  
  
"Captain." Lucas did not look at him and continued to type on the vocorder's makeshift keyboard. The silence stretched out between them.  
  
Eventually Bridger sighed. "I've seen what was on the disk."  
  
Lucas did not react. Bridger wondered if he had even heard him. "I understand why you did what you did," he continued. "I understand it, but that doesn't make it right."  
  
Lucas still didn't speak, but Bridger knew he had his attention: he had stopped tapping on the vocorder.  
  
"You understand that people die in war, don't you Lucas?" Bridger asked, though it seemed like a lame excuse.  
  
Lucas raised his head, although he still didn't look at Bridger. "Oh yes, Captain, I understand that very well," he said bitterly. "I understand it, but that doesn't make it right."  
  
Bridger sighed. You're not making this easy for me, kid, he thought to himself. "Look, Lucas, I have to know that you're going to be loyal to me. I can't have you disobeying orders whenever you feel like it."  
  
"I told you, Captain, I am loyal to you," Lucas said. "But you didn't create that formula."  
  
"Well, let me rephrase," Bridger said, trying not to sound exasperated. "I need to know that you'll be loyal to UEO command, whether they give you orders through me or directly."  
  
Lucas considered this. "I can't promise you that," he said quietly.  
  
"That's what I thought."  
  
Lucas looked down at the vocorder again. "So I guess you want me to leave."  
  
Bridger shook his head. "Leave? Oh, no. I've got something much better in mind for you. I'm going to make you an ensign."  
  
Lucas looked at Bridger for the first time, his head turning sharply, eyes astonished. "An ensign?"  
  
"That's right," Bridger said seriously. "You'll have no more excuse to disobey orders. And I'll have no more get-out clause. Isn't that what you wanted?"  
  
Lucas stared at him. "Um, Captain, don't you think you could give me a higher rank?"  
  
Bridger grinned. "Don't worry, Lucas. If you work hard for a few years, you might make lieutenant." Lucas' mouth dropped open. Bridger clapped him on his good shoulder, standing up. "Congratulations," he said, and left, grinning to himself, leaving Lucas to stare speechlessly after him. 


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: see all previous disclaimers. If you can read 'em ; ).  
  
Big piles of thankyous are due to pari106, lo, hepatica, Teresa, TeacherTam and kas, and everyone who's reviewed or just read this fic. I've had loads of fun – hope you have too : ).

pari106: yeah, I'd like to read that poem, thanks very much!  
  
I was intending to write another episode of Cabin Fever before we moved house, but the boat leaves in an hour and I haven't done it yet. So apologies to anyone who feels they deserve one : ). I'll do my best to get on with that once the dust has settled...  
  
  
  
Ghosts  
  
Chapter 19  
  
"Lucas play!"  
  
Lucas shook his head at Darwin. The work on the vocorder had been progressing much more quickly now that O'Neill was helping him. And now that I'm not busy being shot at or stuck in jail, he added silently. His arm was stiff and a little painful, but mostly healed; Westphalen had allowed him to take off the sling, but had forbidden him from bridge duty for the time being, so he had plenty of time to sit in the moon pool and programme. They had succeeded in translating all the most basic vocabulary now, although they were still having trouble with abstract concepts. But Darwin mainly used one word: "play".  
  
"I'm working right now, Darwin. Maybe later," Lucas said. He wasn't sure that "later" had translated very well; maybe dolphins just didn't have that concept.  
  
"Bridger play!" said Darwin. Lucas turned in surprise. The captain was standing in the doorway, watching him. Lucas started to get up.  
  
"Oh, don't worry about it, Lucas. We're not on duty," Bridger grinned. "Say, aren't you going to be late?"  
  
Lucas frowned. "Late for what?" He tried to remember if there was anything he was supposed to be doing.  
  
Bridger looked at him like he was a moron . "Shore leave?"  
  
"Oh. That." Lucas sat down again, feeling a little sad, although he had resigned himself to it long before. "I think I'm just gonna stay here. I've got lots of work to do."  
  
"What? You must have hit your head harder than I thought," Bridger said, coming towards him. "No-one in their right mind would give up shore leave."  
  
Lucas frowned again, not looking at the captain. "Well, I haven't got anything planned, and I don't know anyone upworld, so I'll just stay here." His voice was angrier than he'd intended it to be. He concentrated on hiding his emotions.  
  
Bridger shook his head. "What about all the things Krieg has planned? I didn't dare ask about them myself, but there are serious rumours going around this boat. A weekend upworld with that man is something not to be missed, I suspect."  
  
Lucas looked up now, perplexed. "Krieg?"  
  
Bridger nodded. "He's saved you a seat in his shuttle. He's going to be pretty disappointed you're not coming."  
  
Lucas felt really bewildered now. "He didn't say anything."  
  
Bridger laughed. "He probably thought someone as smart as you wouldn't be stupid enough to stay on this hunk of junk."  
  
Feeling embarrassed and confused, Lucas started to get to his feet. "Captain, I..."  
  
Bridger cut him off. "You'd better hurry, kiddo. Wouldn't want to miss that shuttle."  
  
Lucas shot him a grateful look and exited the moon pool at a run.  
  
  
  
When he arrived at the docking bay, he saw Krieg waving at him from across the room. He headed in that direction, but suddenly found his way barred. He looked up at Commander Ford's forbidding face and stood sharply to attention.  
  
"At ease," Ford said.  
  
Lucas waited.  
  
"I just wanted to say... I apologise for doubting you. You proved your loyalty on the bridge the other day." Ford looked slightly uncomfortable.  
  
Lucas concentrated on not showing his surprise on his face. "Thank you, sir." It felt odd to be calling the commander "sir". But the man had made a concession. Lucas could afford to do the same.  
  
Ford nodded, and moved out of his way. Lucas made his way over to Krieg, who gave him an astonished grin.  
  
"So, you even managed to melt old 'iron pants' Ford's heart, huh? Next thing you know you'll be running for most popular guy on seaQuest."  
  
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "Give me time," he said.  
  
  
  
It was a beautiful spring day when the shuttle docked in New Cape Quest. Krieg was out of the vessel in an instant, grinning at the afternoon sun and the sparkling water. "Well, I know this great beach bar," he started, and O'Neill groaned.  
  
"Not the same one you took us to last time?" he asked, dreading the answer.  
  
"Ah, come on, guys! We had a great time!"  
  
"Yeah, right up to that little incident with the police," Ortiz recalled.  
  
"I told you, that was just a misunderstanding," Krieg said. "It won't happen again."  
  
O'Neill and Ortiz exchanged long-suffering glances. Then O'Neill turned. "Lucas, you coming?" he called.  
  
The young man, standing a short distance away staring at the water, looked up. "I'll catch up with you guys later," he said. "There's something I've got to do first."  
  
  
  
It was early evening and the compound was deserted when Lucas climbed over the eight foot high chain link fence, awkwardly, favouring his bad arm. The night guard was nowhere to be seen. The compound was neatly laid out, and the cherry trees were in full flower, their branches seeming to be laden with stars in the half-light. Lucas slipped along the endless rows of white stones, shining softly under the darkening sky, until he found what he was looking for. He dropped to sit on the ground by the stone, reading the lettering: Robert Bridger, 1995-2020. Beloved son. He reached out and touched the stone, tracing the letters with his finger, and then laid his hand at the top of the marker.  
  
For a long time he sat there, silent, watching the twilight spread across the luminous sky. A few fat drops of rain began to fall, and he lifted his head to look upwards.  
  
"I miss you Robert," he said quietly.  
  
The rain fell on his upturned face, and ran down it like tears. And Lucas smiled.  
  
"I think everything's going to be OK," he said.  
  
FIN


End file.
